The One With The Digital Fairytale
by Jana
Summary: The rating is somewhere between PG-13 and R - Loosely based on the Rachel/Phoebe storyline in TOW Joey's New Brain… Monica finds a cell phone, which starts in motion a fairytale for the digital age.
1. One

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter One

By: Jana~

http://www.dreamwater.net/janasworld/disclaimer.htm

*****

--"Is that your cell phone, Pheebs?" Monica asked, hearing the ringing only after she stopped to take a sip of water.

"I didn't bring my phone," Phoebe replied, also taking a momentary break from jogging to grab a quick drink.

"Well," Monica informed, "It's not mine." She unclipped her phone from her tight fitting running shorts and checked to be sure before finishing the statement. "Mine's on vibrate."

They both looked around, but saw no one very near to them. Certainly not near enough so as to be hearing their ringing phone.

Phoebe panted a few times, then held her breath so that she could listen without her sharp exhales drowning out the sound.

"I think it's coming from the bushes," she informed, still straining to hear.

Monica agreed, then started to inch closer to the edge of the running path.

"Yeah," Monica muttered, "It's coming from in there." She paused, turning to look at her friend. "Should I, go in and try to find it?"

Phoebe shrugged, "I guess."

After rolling her eyes at her friend's indecisive reply, Monica pushed branches aside and started into the bushes. She felt like she was getting closer when the ringing stopped, making tracking it by sound impossible.

"It stopped ringing," Monica called out to Phoebe, looking for a suggestion as to what to do next.

"Maybe it'll ring again?" Phoebe called back before taking a few steps into the foliage.

"Maybe." 

Monica paused as she waited. A little more than a minute went by, but she was growing quickly impatient. "Never mind," she snipped, heading back towards the running path; that's when it started ringing again.

"There!" Phoebe exclaimed, pointing in the direction she thought the phone was in.

Monica moved quickly, the sound becoming louder, and she knew she was close. She leaned over and ran her hands through some leaves, bumping into something hard. The phone.

She held it up in triumph for Phoebe to see, then pushed the 'talk' button.

"Hello?" No answer. "Hello?" Again, no answer. "They musta hung up," she decided, muttering her assumption towards Phoebe. "We'll take it with us," she informed as she stepped onto the concrete path a moment after her friend. "Maybe the owner will call it to see if anyone's found it."

Phoebe nodded, then they both started jogging for home.

*****

Monica had known Phoebe for years. Once her roommate, Phoebe had moved out after living with Monica for about a year, citing the reason why as being: she needed to be able to live in a place where she could spill.

Monica was known as a neat-freak by all who knew her, and if anything got spilled anywhere, she would become militant about cleaning it. It was just too much for Phoebe, who was more of a free spirit, and not at all worried about keeping a perfectly neat and tidy apartment.

They just simply clashed, so Phoebe moved out, but she didn't go far. The across the way neighbor and their dear friend had a room to spare, **his** roommate leaving when he got engaged. It was by far a better roommate match. Joey was also very carefree, and though not at all sloppy, his top priorities didn't include the décor or cleanliness of his domicile. As long as he had a reclining chair, a cold beer, and a TV set turned to sports or Baywatch, he was happy.

Two months after Phoebe moved out, Monica found a new roommate… an old friend from high school. Someone she hadn't seen in more years than she could count, suddenly showed up at the local coffeehouse, wearing a soaking wet wedding dress, complete with a dripping veil.

Rachel explained how she was set to get married, only minutes before the ceremony, when the revelation came to her… she didn't love the man she was about to marry. Having nowhere else to go, Monica offered to take her in. They were much more suited as roommates, not because Rachel too was a neat-freak, but because she could tolerate that trait in Monica better than most people could.

And then there was Monica's older brother, Ross. Married and divorced from his college sweetheart and newly 'outed' lesbian before the age of 26, he left the only home he knew outside of his childhood home and the college dorm room and moved into an apartment across the street from Monica. 

Ross was also friends with Joey, Phoebe, and Rachel, their friendship meaning a lot to him, especially during the divorce. A closer group of friends you would be hard pressed to find. They all fit together like pieces of a puzzle, all with unique strengths and weaknesses, all supporting the others in times of need.

Close like siblings, fiercely protective of each other, friends till the end. Nothing could change the solidarity of the group.

Nothing?

*****~*****

--"How was your jog?" Joey asked as Monica and Phoebe entered Monica's apartment.

"Fine," Monica replied with a scowl. "And just what are you doing in my apartment?"

He looked at her for a mere second before holding up a cooked, cold chicken leg. "Eating," he stated as if it were obvious.

Monica rolled her eyes, "Of course you are." She smiled as she patted his back to let him know she was teasing him, then headed for the bathroom. "I need a shower. I'll be right out."

"Ok," both Phoebe and Joey called out, almost in unison.

"We found a cell phone," Phoebe announced casually as she sat at the dining table.

"Really?" he asked, his mouth full of food. "Can I have it?"

She shook her head. "No, Joseph, it belongs to someone."

His brow furrowed at her use of his given name. "Fine. Just asking."

"Monica thinks the owner will call it to see if anyone's found it," she explained, "Then she'll return it."

"If no one does, **then** can I have it?" he asked optimistically.

"Doubtful," Phoebe replied. "Besides, what good does a cell phone do you when you don't even know the number?"

Joey thought about that for a moment, then shrugged.

"I **hate** serving coffee to assholes!" Rachel announced as she stormed into the apartment. "I just had the customer from hell!" She slammed her purse onto the kitchen counter with force, then marched towards the fridge. "First, the coffee was too hot. **Then**, the coffee was too cold! Then he's all complaining cause the cinnamon sprinkle on top was," she wrinkled her nose and spoke in a condescending tone, "much better on the cup of coffee that was too hot." She huffed loudly as she opened her Snapple tea, taking a quick gulp before continuing. "Gunther ended up giving him a free scone, which, I'm sorry, the guy did **not** deserve!"

Joey and Phoebe shared looks, then Joey offered a hesitant smile,

"So, it was a bad day at work then?"

Rachel glared at him, "You think?!"

"Hey, Rache," Monica greeted her roommate as she exited the bathroom, the steam from her shower following in a fastly-dissipating cloud. "How was work?"

Rachel growled in response and immediately headed for her room, slamming the door.

"I'm guessing not well," Monica surmised, sharing looks with the others. They shook their heads. "I'll make her favorite meal for dinner then," she said as she headed for her room in nothing but a white terry bath towel.

"So," Joey turned to Phoebe, "I guess that means we're having fish for dinner?"

"Looks that way," Phoebe smiled, "Unless you wanna just order a pizza."

He shook his head, "I'm tapped out at the moment."

"When are you **not**?" Ross asked as he entered the apartment suddenly, overhearing Joey's comment.

"Hey! I'll have you know that just last week I got a residual check for that tampon commercial I did last year!"

Phoebe and Ross both erupted into laughter, remembering the commercial he was referring to.

He glared at them both. "Shut up."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Ross apologized. "Hey, is Rachel here? Gunther said her shift ended, like, 10 minutes ago."

"She's in her room," Phoebe informed, "But I would beware of her right now. She had a **very** bad day at work."

Ross' expression softened, "Oh?" He looked at her closed door, "Well, maybe she needs a shoulder to cry on."

"She seemed more mad than sad," Joey muttered, still annoyed by their teasing him.

Ross just nodded, then headed for her door. He knocked softly, and when he heard her invite him in, he turned the knob and entered.

After Ross was out of the room, Phoebe smiled and chuckled, almost to herself.

"What?"

"He's in love with her," she answered Joey's simple question.

He smiled in return, "Yeah. Kinda figured."

"Ok," Monica stated as she entered the livingroom, "Help or get out of my kitchen."

Phoebe and Joey immediately moved to the couch.

*****

--As usual, everyone stayed for dinner, then hung around afterwards to chat and watch TV. Rachel was the first to yawn, indicating how late it was, and one by one they all shuffled out the door, heading for their respective homes.

Rachel thanked Monica for making her favorite meal, then excused herself and went to bed, leaving all the clean-up for Monica to attend to.

She didn't mind, really. In actuality, she enjoyed cleaning. She found it to be almost relaxing, in a way.

She collected dishes and trash from around the livingroom, humming softly to herself as she tidied up the mess left by her friends and brother. She set the dishes in the sink, then threw the trash away, the bag then full enough to tie up and take out. She opened the door, just about to leave for the trash chute when she heard the faint ringing of a phone.

Quickly realizing it wasn't her phone, she started out the door, only to stop cold when she remembered… "The cell phone!"

She ran to her room, the ringing getting louder as she opened her door.

Grabbing the phone off her dresser, she hit the talk button without hesitation and offered the familiar greeting.

"Hello?"

"Um, hello?" the voice on the other end seemed confused.

Monica wasn't sure what to do or say next, so she offered an explanation. "This actually isn't my phone. I found it."

"Oh," the man seemed more at ease. "I see. I thought I might've dialed the wrong number by mistake."

"Ya'know, I'm not even sure what the number for this phone is," Monica replied. "It's not written anywhere on it."

"Well, what's the serial number on the back?"

"Hang on." She turned the phone and looked at the number, then rattled it off a few numbers at a time, it much too long to remember and repeat without looking at it multiple times.

"Yes, that is my assistant's phone."

"Your assistant?"

"Yes. It is a company phone, used by my assistant."

"Ok," Monica acknowledged. "Well, um, what do we do now? As far as me returning it is concerned."

"Well, if it's not too much trouble, could you return it to my office?"

"Maybe," she replied, "Where's your office?"

"It's the tall building with the green panes of glass for walls. Becker Enterprises."

"Oh! Yeah!" she exclaimed, knowing the building right off. "On 4th and Main!"

"Right!"

"Ok, so, who do I ask for when I get there?"

"Peter Becker."

Her breath caught in her throat as she immediately recognized the name. "This--" she stammered, "**This** is, um, Peter Becker?"

"Yes," he replied. "And whom am I speaking with?"

"My name is Monica," she answered softly, her throat suddenly parched. "Monica Geller."

"Well, Monica, thank you so very much for finding the phone. And for agreeing to bring it back."

"It's no problem." She cleared her throat nervously, "When did you want me to bring it by?"

"Around noon? Then, maybe, I could treat you to lunch? You know, as a thank you for finding and returning the phone."

"Um, ok," she stammered. "Sure. That sounds good."

"Great. So, I'll see you tomorrow then."

--Monica hung up the phone and smiled. She had a lunch date with Peter Becker, one of the wealthiest men in America. Rachel would be so jealous. Her grin turned mischievous as she decided to wake her friend in the next room to gloat about her recent good fortune.

****

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Two

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter two

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Monica looked up at the tall building after smoothing out and straightening her dress for the umpteenth time. She was pleased with herself that she thought ahead to bring a change of clothes to the restaurant, knowing her 'chefing' duds would most likely **not** make a very good first impression.

After peeking into her purse one last time to make sure she didn't forget the phone, she took a deep breath and headed for the front door of Becker Enterprises.

The office was busy, but surprisingly quiet, and it made her feel the need to whisper when addressed.

"May I help you?" the sharply dressed woman behind a large mahogany desk inquired.

Monica took a step closer. "I'm here to see Mr. Becker."

The woman's plastic smile faltered slightly. "And do you have an appointment?"

"Yes," she replied. "I do."

Monica thought the woman seemed skeptical of that fact, but she gave her directions on how to get to Peter Becker's office anyway.

--She got off the elevator on the 15th floor, the uppermost floor in the building, then turned right, muttering to herself the directions the downstairs receptionist had given her.

"Off the elevator, turn right, down the hall, on the left…"

She walked tentatively towards her destination, the size and silence of the hallway intimidating, the only sound to be heard being that of her shoes clicking on the marble-like floor.

At the end of the hall, she turned left, and was met by another large desk with another sharply-dressed receptionist sitting behind it.

"Good afternoon," she greeted Monica in a very business-like manner. "May I help you?"

Monica swallowed the overflow of saliva that filled her mouth out of nervousness. "I'm here to see Mr. Becker."

"Name?"

"Monica Geller."

The secretary smiled her best fake smile and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Geller, he's been expecting you. Please, have a seat one moment while I let him know you're here."

Monica did as instructed, her mind abuzz with amusing thoughts of how much the situation reminded her of the movie The Wizard of Oz. All she lacked was a little dog, a talking scarecrow, and a cowardly lion. She half expected the woman behind the insanely large desk to exclaim 'Mr. Becker?! Nobody can see the great Mr. Becker!'

"Ms. Geller?" the secretary called to her, "Mr. Becker will see you now."

She stood and walked overly cautiously towards the door. She wasn't exactly sure why she was so nervous… maybe it was because he was rich, or because he was handsome. She knew he was because after she gloated to Rachel, her jealous friend pulled out a magazine and showed her the latest picture of him.

She didn't know why she was, but she was, and she took a deep breath before opening the large door to his even larger office.

--"Right," Peter Becker said into the phone, "But make it fit on the head of a pin. I love it when we make things fit on the head of a pin." He gestured for Monica to enter when she poked her head in, then turned his attention back to his phone call. "Ok, great. You do that, then get back to me."

He hung up the phone, facing Monica. "Ms. Geller?"

She nodded, speechless. Not only was he cute, but he had a take-charge kind of attitude she found to be a bit intimidating. He would almost have to, she thought, to be so successful.

"Peter Becker," he introduced himself, extending his hand.

She shook it, hoping he wouldn't notice her sweaty palms. If he noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Thank you so much for returning the phone."

That was her cue, and she reached into her purse and retrieved the reason for her being there, holding it out for him to take.

He took it from her outstretched hand with a smile, then set it on his desk. "Excuse me one moment," he asked of her, then hit an intercom button.

"Yes, Mr. Becker?" the disembodied voice inquired.

"I need you in my office," Peter stated, not unkindly, but firmly.

Monica turned when mere seconds later the door behind her opened and a man stepped in.

"Yes, sir?"

Peter pointed at the cell phone on his desk, "I believe this is yours."

Instantly uncomfortable, Monica watched as the man took several steps towards the desk and removed the phone from atop it.

"Yes, sir."

"See about getting the clip replaced," Peter suggested, "So you don't lose it again."

"Yes, sir."

Peter gestured towards the door. "That'll be all."

The man took the hint and promptly left, offering Monica a small polite smile before closing the door behind him.

As he jotted something down on a post-it note, Monica cleared her throat, "He's not in trouble, is he? I mean, I wouldn't want-- Because of me--"

Peter smiled. "No, he's not in trouble. He's a great assistant, and accidents happen."

He finished whatever he was writing, then stood and approached Monica.

"So, where would you like to go eat?"

He was nice enough, but there was just something about him. He was all business, and seemed to have a harsh quality.

"Oh, um, I don't really have a preference," she replied. "Wherever is fine with me."

He smiled, then walked back to his desk and hit another intercom button.

"Yes, sir?" the female voice inquired, and Monica knew it was the receptionist right outside the huge 'Wizard of Oz' size doors.

"I need a table for two at Petries in 30 minutes."

"Yes, sir," she said dutifully, "And you have a call on line one."

"Who is it?"

"The Vice-President, sir."

Monica gasped, but shook her head as if to say she didn't when he looked her way.

"Patch him through," he told his secretary, then smiled at Monica, "I'll only be a minute."

She nodded, then took a seat in the chair he gestured to.

He spoke quietly, and she could only hear his side of the conversation, but from what she could gather, it sounded important.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her as he hung up the phone, "But I can't make lunch today. Something has come up."

"Oh," she stood, preparing to leave. "Ok."

"My assistant will be happy to take you, though."

"Oh, no, that's ok," she assured him. "I'll just grab a bite on the way back to work."

"No, no," he stated, "I insist."

Before she could argue further, he was back on the intercom. "I need you in my office, please."

"Yes, sir," the assistant's voice acknowledged.

Peter hit a different intercom button, "Alice? I will be working through lunch."

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Would you like me to cancel the reservations at Petries?"

"No, Mr. Bing will be accompanying Ms. Geller to lunch."

He clicked off the intercom as his assistant walked through the door.

"Chandler," Peter approached him, "I need you to accompany Ms. Monica Geller here to Petries for lunch."

"Really, sir," Monica interjected, "It's really not necessary."

"Of course it is!" Peter exclaimed. "You were nice enough to return our lost phone, it's the least we can do!"

Monica smiled awkwardly, feeling like she just stepped out of reality and into a large game of 'look how rich and powerful I am', in which she was a pawn of some kind.

"I do need to speak with my assistant for one moment, however. So, if you wouldn't mind just waiting outside--"

"Oh, sure," she quickly headed for the door. "No problem."

--She shut the door as quietly as possible, then smiled at the secretary when she turned to find her smiling at her.

"He asked me to wait out here."

"Yes, ma'am," the woman replied, then went back to her business.

Briefly, the idea of just leaving crossed her mind, but she didn't want to appear rude, so, she took a seat and waited.

--"She seems nice. A little timid, maybe," Peter confided in his assistant, "But she is lovely and well-mannered. I would like to know more about her."

"Yes, sir," Chandler nodded once.

"Talk to her at lunch. Ask her questions. Find out what you can about her," the tycoon demanded. "You know the drill."

"Yes, sir."

"That'll be all, Chandler." Peter dismissed him with a hand gesture, and Chandler immediately left his boss' office.

*****

--Chandler's demeanor changed once out of the office, Monica noticed. While in Peter's office, and even while still in the building, he seemed almost rigid, and somewhat unapproachable. But once out of the building, he seemed more relaxed, and easy going.

--They arrived at the restaurant, and it amazed Monica how different the manager and waiters acted once they realized **the** Peter Becker wouldn't be gracing their establishment.

The manager had recognized Chandler right away as being Mr. Becker's personal assistant, and an entourage greeted them straight away. But when he asked Chandler about Peter, and was informed that Mr. Becker had an important meeting he couldn't leave, the manager and all the kiss-ass employees groaned and walked away. All except their waiter, who showed them to their table, but then he walked away as soon as they were seated, while Chandler was in the middle of a question.

--"How rude!" Monica whispered to Chandler, in reference to the way he was ignored.

Chandler shrugged, "They know I'm not as generous a tipper," he quipped.

Monica chuckled at his little comment, and for the first time in about an hour, she was starting to feel at ease.

--"So," Chandler asked over their perspective meals, "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a chef," she replied, "At Alesandros."

His face lit up. "Really? I love that place!"

"Yeah?" she asked, surprised.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, it's just," she stammered, "It's not very… high-brow."

He laughed, "You think I eat like this all the time?" He gestured to his plate with his fork, "When it's not on the Becker dime, I am a pizza and beer kinda guy."

"Me too," she chuckled. "I told Mr. Becker this wasn't necessary, but he pretty much wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

"Yeah," Chandler shook his head as he smiled, "That's Peter for you."

There was a brief pause in the conversation. "Ya'know," Monica spoke up, "You're nothing like I thought you would be."

He smirked. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"No," she clarified with a smile, "I just really expected you to be more straight-laced. More business-like." She shrugged, "More like your boss."

"Actually, we're quite different." He chewed and swallowed before continuing. "But, he expects a certain kind of decorum from his employees. So, we 'act' like he wants us to."

"Seems a bit degrading."

"Maybe a little. In a way. But, it's a good job. With great benefits. Who am I to complain?"

"Well, I could never do it. I mean, I could make nice with the boss, but, after a while, wearing that plastic smile all the time would just give me a migraine headache!"

"Yeah," he joked, "Most of us hold stock in Bayer Aspirin and Tylenol!"

***

--The lunch went well, and the conversation just seemed to flow between Chandler and Monica.

Initially, Monica dreaded the idea of having lunch with Chandler, seeing him as a 'stiff, kiss-ass assistant', but her first impression of him had been wrong. In actuality, she found him to be funny, and a good conversationalist, and when the lunch finally came to an end, she found herself feeling disappointed.

--"I really want to thank you for lunch," Monica said as they pulled up outside of Alesandros.

"Oh, well, thank **you** for finding my cell phone."

"How did you lose it anyway?" she asked curiously as they both exited the Becker limo.

"I was out jogging, and I guess the clip broke. I didn't even realize it till I was back at home and went to change out of my sweats."

"I found it in the bushes," Monica informed, somewhat confused. "Were you jogging in the bushes?"

He shifted as he looked at the ground. "Maybe I kicked it on accident as it fell," he offered. "Or maybe someone else who came along after did. I don't know."

To Monica, he seemed uncomfortable with the inquiry, so she dropped it and moved on. "Well, I should probably get back to work. Before my boss gets his panties in a wad."

He smiled, "Same here."

"So, thanks again," she said, stalling for time, hoping he would ask for her number. Or give her his number.

"You're welcome," he replied, his demeanor becoming business-like again, like when they were back at Becker Enterprises. "Goodbye."

Monica watched as he entered the limo and drove away.

***

--"She lives in the Village with a female roommate, Rachel," Chandler informed Peter. "She has one sibling, a brother, Ross. She's a chef at Alesandros restaurant. She is currently single--"

"Fine, Chandler, Fine," Peter cut him off. "That will be all."

"Yes, sir," Chandler replied, then headed for the door, but he stopped short of leaving.

"Was there something else, Chandler?"

"Yes, sir." Without turning to face his boss, he asked, "Do you think you will be asking Ms. Geller out?"

"I don't know yet," Peter answered, busily shuffling through the papers in front of him. "Is it your business?"

Chandler winced. "No, sir."

"That will be all."

--Chandler left the office immediately, knowing better than to linger once dismissed.

He knew he was taking a risk in asking such a personal question, but he had to know. He had to know if his boss had any interest in her, because, if he didn't…

***

--"Hey, Mon," Rachel chirped excitedly as she walked into their apartment, "How was your date with the richest man in the world?"

"He actually couldn't take me to lunch, cause he was busy," Monica replied as she took a break from cleaning the windows. "So, he had his assistant take me."

"Oh, man! That sucks!"

Monica shrugged, "Not really. He was really nice. And funny."

"Was he cute?"

"Yeah, actually. He has the most amazing blue eyes."

"His assistant?" Rachel inquired.

"Yeah, why?"

Rachel went to her room without responding, then returned with a magazine in her hand. She flipped through the pages till she found the page she was looking for, then extended it towards Monica.

"The guy on Peter's right?"

Monica took the magazine and looked at the picture. "Yes! That's him! Chandler Bing."

Rachel smirked, "He **is** cute!" She left Monica to stare at the magazine picture while she went to retrieve a bottled water from the fridge.

"If one didn't know better," Rachel teased, "One might think you have a crush on Mr. Assistant."

"After one lunch?" Monica scoffed, tossing the magazine back at Rachel. "Don't be ridiculous!"

****

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Three

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Three

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Hey, Monica," the waiter caught her attention as he poked his head into the kitchen, "There's someone here who wants to compliment the chef."

Monica smiled proudly. It was like a pat on the back for all her hard work, when people would want to share a quick praise, and it was the part of the job she loved the most. After all, what was the point of cooking something if no one appreciates it?

She nodded and yanked a kitchen utility towel out of her apron ties, "Sure. Send 'em in."

She dabbed at the sweat on her brow and under her eyes before tucking the corner of the towel back where'd she gotten it, then busied herself at the stove, for appearance's sake.

She heard the sound of the door swish open, and she turned with a gracious smile. The smile changed, however, when she saw who was standing before her.

"Chandler…"

He seemed all-business, his smile courteous, but nothing more. "Ms. Geller," he greeted her somewhat-distantly, then pushed at the swinging door.

Peter Becker then entered, looking very upper-class in his undoubtedly expensive suit, an air of confidence to his stance.

"Ms. Geller," he greeted as he approached. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, like one might see in an old black-and-white movie, and Monica shifted uncomfortably as she glanced at Chandler.

His face was stony and unreadable, and she quickly moved her attention back to Peter as he addressed her.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't make lunch the other day," he apologized, "But when I heard that you were head chef here, at Alesandros, I decided to grace your establishment. I must say, your abilities as a chef are… exceptional."

Fidgeting, she stammered her reply, "Um, thanks-- thank you."

What was it about this man that set her ill-at-ease?

He acknowledged her with a slight nod. "So, listen, since our lunch date was interrupted," he continued presumptuously, "I would like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner. Say, tomorrow at seven?"

Monica looked at Chandler, who offered nothing in the way of an opinion by his expression as to what she should do.

He was awaiting a response of some kind, and his firm constant stare caused her to mutter what she knew he wanted to hear. "Sure. That sounds… fine."

"Great. I'll have my limo pick you up at 6:30?"

She forced herself not to glance at Chandler, "Alright. Sure."

Peter kissed her knuckles again, then turned to Chandler, "Get all her information, please." With that he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Monica and Chandler alone.

He offered an apologetic smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. "I just need your address."

She stared at him for a moment, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him, the pen poised and ready to write. When she didn't speak for several seconds, he looked up and questioned her with his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "Five-two-five, Grove Avenue, apartment 20. Corner of Bedford."

He smiled and pointed the pen at her, while in mid-writing, "Central Perk!"

Nodding, she smiled and pointed back, "You know it?"

"Oh, sure! I know someone who works there."

"Really? Who?"

"Gunther."

"Oh, yeah! Gunther! I-- I haven't seen you in there, though, right? I mean, I don't remember seeing--"

"Yeah, no, once or twice maybe? I don't really live nearby," he explained. "I swing by my local Starbucks when in the mood for foofy coffee."

She chuckled at his colorful adjective. "So, then, how do you know Gunther?"

"He's a friend of a friend of a friend," he chuckled. "You know how that goes."

He was back to the easy-going person she'd had lunch with days before, so she decided to take the risk and broach a possibly uncomfortable subject. "You seem so different when Peter Becker is around."

The smile dropped from his face and he stiffened up, his attention moving to the simple task of placing his notebook back in his jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, seeing how her comment upset him.

"I must be going now," he stated, matter-of-fact, then turned on his heel and left.

*****

--Monica's date with Peter Becker was typical, yet unusual, all at the same time. They went out to eat, which was typical, and conversed over their meals, which was also pretty much standard, but the conversation seemed very one-sided.

He didn't seem very interested in getting to know her so much as he was interested in showing off his power and wealth.

He would ask the waiters for crazy things, chuckling at their eagerness to please him, likening their behavior to that of dogs begging for treats or their owner's approval. And any time Monica would interject something about herself into their conversations, he would always detour it back to his wealth and prestige.

She found it all to be a major turn-off, and she kept peeking at her watch discreetly, wishing for the date to hurry up and end. Then, he mentioned his name. Chandler.

She stopped tuning him out and listened to what he was saying, interested in knowing any detail, however small, about the strange man she couldn't stop thinking about.

"Speaking of Chandler," she added with as casual a voice as she could fake, "Where is he tonight? Isn't he always with you?"

"No, actually," Peter explained, "I do allow him to go home occasionally." He chuckled, finding his comment amusing. "But, he is on-call though, if I ever need him once he's gone home for the day."

She scowled, "Isn't that awfully inconvenient for him?"

Peter dismissed her question without answering it or even acknowledging it, then moved back to the topic he obviously loved… himself.

*****

--He walked her up to her apartment at the end of the date, which was nice, and gentlemanly, but all Monica wanted was for the date to be over. Him walking her home, them both standing outside her door meant the inevitable awkward moment would soon follow. The moment where he would try to kiss her.

She thanked him for dinner as she unlocked her door, and he thanked her for her company, inching towards her when she turned around to say goodnight.

Instinctively, she turned her face away, and instead of his lips touching hers, his kiss planted on her cheek. Apologetically, she smiled, and he accepted her apology with a small nod, obviously disappointed.

She thanked him one last time for dinner, then reached behind her and turned the knob, opening the door and offering herself the chance to slip inside and away from the awkwardness of the situation.

He nodded again, uncharacteristically silent, so she took that as her cue and ducked into her apartment, closing the door behind her. She paused for a moment, then for a reason she didn't quite understand, chained the door.

What did she think? That he was going to become enraged and barge into her apartment uninvited?

Actually, she wouldn't have put it past him, not because he seemed angry at her, or mean in general, but because he reminded her of the kind of person who would think he could if he so wanted.

--"Hey! How was your date?" Rachel asked as she entered the livingroom from her bedroom.

"Fine," Monica replied simply, then kicked off her shoes, leaning over to pick them up.

Rachel scoffed, "Details, Mon! Details!"

She shook her head, "There really aren't any details worth sharing."

"What? It wasn't excellent?" she half-whined. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Monica assured her. "He just… isn't my type."

"Rich isn't your type? Handsome isn't your type?"

"Rache," she countered, "That isn't the beginning and end to all ya'know. There are other things."

"Like?!" Rachel demanded to know.

"Like, a good personality! Like, chemistry!"

"There was no chemistry?"

"None," Monica replied. "Zip."

"Well, what are his interests?"

"Besides himself?" Monica quipped.

"He's self centered?"

Monica scoffed as she nodded. "You remember Chip Matthews?"

Rachel scowled in confusion, "Yeah?"

"Remember how all he wanted to talk about was inane things and himself?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, now, picture him with money."

Rachel chortled, then shook her head, "Wow. So, sorry the date didn't work out."

Monica nodded, "Yeah. Thanks."

"Well, so, now, what about Mr. Assistant?"

"Him," Monica replied as she stood in the doorway to her room, "I wouldn't mind seeing again."

*****

--Monica wasn't expecting to see Chandler on the other side of her door, it being a Saturday afternoon, but there he was. Even though dressed a little more casual than usual, with a polo-style shirt and khaki pants, she could still tell he was there on business.

He nodded as she opened the door, then extended a large gold box towards her. "These are from Mr. Becker," he informed, and she removed the box from his outstretched hands.

She opened it to find it full, with at least 2 or more dozen red roses.

Shaking her head, she stammered, "I-- I can't accept these."

"He wants you to have them," Chandler replied, holding his hand up when she tried to give the box back to him.

"Why is he doing this?"

Chandler questioned her, "Doing what?"

"The date **didn't** go **well**! I was pretty sure I conveyed to him that I wasn't interested in him in-- in **that** way…"

He just shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with how to respond, so she sighed exasperatedly and turned to grab a vase large enough to put them in.

"Well, come in already," she ordered, filling a large vase with water and setting it on the table.

He entered her apartment, but only by 2 or 3 steps, and she rolled her eyes as she approached him.

"I won't bite you for crying out loud!" she snipped, then took him by the arm and pulled him to stand beside her at the table. "Give me a hand with these."

They worked together to get them in the vase, then she picked it up and moved it to set it atop the desk by the large bay windows.

"This place is amazing," he complimented her. "I love the purple walls."

She chuckled, "Thanks. It was my grandma's place, before she moved to Florida. She's subletting it to me."

He nodded, then scuffed his feet on the floor, unsure of what to say next.

"You seem very loyal to Peter."

"He **is** my boss," he replied.

"It seems to go beyond that," she suggested. "I mean, here it is, Saturday, and you're here on an errand for **him**."

He gestured towards the vase with the roses, "He wanted you to have those."

"So, have a flower delivery person deliver them! Why you?"

"It's my job."

"To always be at his beck and call?"

"I'm not always at his--"

"Yes you are!" she interrupted. "He thinks of you as at his disposal 24/7!"

"I'm a good assistant," he defended himself. "He relies on me!"

"I'm not questioning your abilities as an assistant! I'm questioning, why would you **want** to be someone's lackey?"

"I'm not his **lackey**, I'm his **assistant**!"

"Well, do assistants usually run errands on their days off? Taking flowers to a girl his boss went out on a date with?"

"Some do!" he snipped. "And who said this was my day off?"

"You work on Saturdays?" she asked skeptically.

"Maybe," he shot back. "And why are you getting so hot with me anyway? Why are we fighting like we're some old married couple when it's Peter you are dating!?"

"I don't want to date Peter Becker," Monica informed him, her combative stance dissipating. "I-- I kinda wanted to date… **you**. Not Peter Becker's assistant, cause that guy is just **way** too stiff and uptight, but **you**. Chandler Bing."

There was a long pause that seemed to last forever before he finally replied. "I can't date you, Monica," he stated softly, his defensive tone also disappearing.

"Why not?" she asked. "Are you… seeing someone?"

"No."

"Are you gay?"

Smiling, he shook his head, "No."

"Then, why can't you date me? Are you just not attracted to me?"

"No…"

"Then," Monica questioned him, "What is it?"

"Peter is interested in you," was his eventual reply.

"So?"

"So… I wouldn't dare think of dating someone he has an interest in."

She scoffed, "And the fact that I have **no** interest in him means **nothing**?"

He shook his head, "I just can't Monica. It's… hard to explain. It's complicated."

"No, it's not. It's really very plain and simple. You don't dare cross the powerful Mr. Becker cause you don't wanna risk losing your job."

"It's not that simple. There's more to it than that."

"Then, what? Explain it to me."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated, Monica gathered.

"Look, I'm not trying to be difficult here, but, I like you. And, I've been thinking a lot about you lately. And I just thought… maybe…"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his stare firmly planted on the floor.

"So am I," she muttered. "Sorry I mistook you for someone you're not."

He looked up, "And whom did you mistake me for?"

"Someone with character and integrity."

He chuckled grimly, "And who have you found me to be?"

She didn't answer, already feeling guilty about making the insult in the first place. She didn't want to make it worse by adding to it.

He nodded, looking away, then his stance grew rigid. "I have to be going now."

"No!" she snipped. "Don't you do that! Don't you revert to 'assistant-Chandler'! Just-- Just talk to me!"

"I don't know what to say."

"Then, answer me this," she demanded. "Tell me that you don't feel anything for me! Tell me that you're not interested in dating me, and we will never speak of this again!"

She watched him as he seemed to struggle with how to respond.

"I-- I can't--"

She didn't need to see or hear anymore. She was confident in one fact… he liked her. Two large strides was all it took to close the gap between them, and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

He kissed back, initially, which confirmed her suspicions, but then he abruptly pulled away.

"Monica-- Monica… I can't," he panted. "I can't. Peter likes you. Peter wants to date you." He shook his head, "This can't happen."

"I don't **want** to date Peter," she asserted.

"That doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?" she asked incredulously.

"Not to Peter it doesn't, no."

"And what about to you?" she asked. "Does it matter to you?"

"It-- I--" he was beyond flustered, his words barely sounding like English. "I have to go."

She called out to him to stop him, but he kept walking, shaking his head as he disappeared around the corner and down the stairs. She thought about going after him, but decided against it, feeling he needed space and time to figure out what he wanted.

She could just hope that in time he would realize that what he wanted, was her.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. Four

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Four

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Hey, Mon," Phoebe greeted cheerfully as she entered Monica's apartment with Rachel in toe. "Wanna come with me and Rache to Candles-R-Us?"

"And then Pottery Barn after that?" Rachel added, to which Phoebe groaned.

"You said we could go to Pottery Barn after Candle-World," Rachel reminded Phoebe, "And I know you don't much care for the place, but, well, I do!"

"It's just so commercial and--"

"Guys," Monica interrupted the little spat between friends, "I don't really feel much like shopping."

Rachel gasped, as if the very idea of **not** being in the mood to shop was inconceivable. "Why not?" she asked as she and Phoebe approached the couch.

"And why is your aura so murky?" Phoebe added.

Monica threw Phoebe an odd look as Rachel asked, "Is this because of the bad date last night?"

She sighed, "Not exactly." Monica put her face in her hands for a moment, then looked up again at her friends. "Chandler came by today."

"Who?" Phoebe asked.

"The assistant," Rachel directed at Phoebe, then gestured for Monica to continue.

"He came by," Monica repeated, "To give me those roses," she pointed at the large vase on the desk to her left, "From Peter."

"So," Rachel ventured a guess, "You're upset cause Peter gave you roses?"

Monica shrugged, "Not exactly."

"You're upset because Chandler came here on business for Peter instead of coming here to see you?" Rachel guessed further.

Monica winced. That was, in part, why she was upset, but to hear the words coming from Rachel in the form of a question… it just sounded ridiculous.

She barely knew the man, and yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him. And then, while he was just trying to do his job, she snapped at him and insulted him like he was a cheating boyfriend or something.

"Y- yeah," she stammered. "Kinda," she admitted. "But, that's not all of it."

"Then, what's the rest of it?" Phoebe asked.

"I-- I kissed him."

"What?!" Rachel asked, shocked. "You kissed him?!"

Monica nodded. "I just walked right up to him and kissed him!"

"Well, then, what did **he** do?!" Rachel asked.

"Well, at first," Monica sighed, "He kissed back. But then," she added, the sentence trailing off.

"But then?!?" Rachel demanded to know, fully interested in what her friend was about to say next.

"He pulled away," Monica groaned, "And said that **we** could never happen."

"What?" Phoebe asked. "Why not?"

"Is he seeing someone else?" Rachel added.

"No," Monica replied. "Apparently, he doesn't feel he can date me cause **Peter** likes me."

"So?" Rachel scoffed. "You're not interested in Peter!"

"I told him that!" Monica exclaimed, "But he said to Peter, that wouldn't matter." She sighed, "Whatever **that** means."

"That just doesn't make any sense," Phoebe mused. "He knows how you feel about him?" Monica nodded. "He knows that you **don't** like Peter and that you **do** like him?"

Again, Monica nodded, "Yeah. He knows."

Phoebe shook her head, "There's something bigger going on here."

"I think so too," Monica agreed. "I just… don't know what."

*****

--Chandler entered his boss' office immediately following the obligatory knock, feeling the need to do so even though Peter was already advised that he was there when Alice buzzed him on the intercom.

"Chandler, yes," Peter greeted his assistant, gesturing for him to enter. "Did you arrange for the roses?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take the dog for a walk? Pick up my suits?"

Chandler cringed at how it was all lumped together. Like romancing Monica was nothing more than an errand. An errand to be passed off to someone else, no less. Like picking up clothes from the dry cleaners and walking the horse-sized Great Dane.

"Yes, sir," he replied with a respectful tone, even though he was feeling little respect for his boss at that moment.

He waited for Peter to address him again, the facts of the day gnawing at his mind. The fact that he delivered the roses himself, instead of sending a flower delivery person, just so he would have a reason to see her again.

Monica. The raven-haired beauty with bright blue eyes and adorable freckles that peppered her viewable skin. Monica, with her fiery spirit and soft, perfect, kissable lips.

And then she kissed him, and it was a dream come true, and a nightmare, all rolled up into one brief incredible moment. Clear as crystal, she made it known that she wasn't interested in Peter, but that she **was** interested in him. The poor lowly assistant to the richest man in the country, probably the world.

How was that even possible, he wondered? How could she be interested in dating him, when she **could** be dating **The** Peter Becker? He didn't stick around to ask. He left as quickly as he could, seeing the situation for the potentially volatile predicament that it was.

Peter Becker didn't like to lose, and Chandler knew if word got back to him about the kiss he shared with Monica, that his boss would view it as a failure. A failure Chandler would be seen as directly responsible for. He would be thought of as disloyal. Peter didn't respond well to disloyalty.

As his boss rapidly spat out orders, Chandler jotted his duties down in shorthand as quickly as he could, noting to himself that he would, once again, be working on Sunday. He thought of how Monica would most certainly ridicule him for that as well.

"And don't forget I need you here at six A.M. on Monday, for that early meeting," Peter reminded.

"Yes, sir," Chandler replied in typical fashion as he made the quick note in his planner.

"That'll be all." Mr. Becker dismissed his employee, turning his attention to his computer screen.

Chandler nodded and left, heading for his office with his new list of assignments.

"Maybe it's a good that I have so much work," he muttered to himself as the sound of his loafer shoes hitting the cold hard floor echoed throughout the long empty hallway. "At least this way, I'll have less time to think about Monica."

*****

--Monica entered Central Perk, for once happy to see that none of her friends or her brother was there. She loved them all dearly, and loved their company, but she just wanted time alone to think.

She ordered her usual, then sat down on the focal point of the popular coffeehouse; an old, ugly, tattered, orange couch. Slowly sipping her hot latte, she let her mind wander over her situation.

Peter wanted **her**, **she** wanted Chandler, **Chandler** didn't seem to know **what** he wanted, and that left everything up in the air. Unresolved.

Monica hated having stuff unresolved. Even when the answer was 'no', or other such answer she didn't want to hear, to her, even **that** was better than no answer at all.

"Hey, Monica," Gunther asked, "You want a muffin or something to go with your latte?"

"Oh, no thanks, Gunther," she replied with a polite smile, but just as he started to walk away, her smile dropped, an idea hitting her. "Hey, Gunther?"

He stopped and turned around, "Yeah?"

"You know Chandler Bing, right?"

His brow wrinkled in thought. "Chandler Bing?"

"Yeah," Monica confirmed. "Supposedly a friend of a friend of a friend."

Comprehension seemed to hit him, and he nodded. "Oh, yeah! George's friend!"

"Yeah!" Monica agreed, even though she had no idea who George was. "Do you happen to know where he lives?"

"Who?" he asked, "George?"

"No," she forced a smile, trying not to show her exasperation. "Chandler."

"Oh! Um…" he thought for a moment, as if the memory was just beyond his mind's reach, then suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Yeah! The Covington Arms on Lincoln, near Lakeview," he informed. "Why?"

She struggled for a quick response to his question. "He's a new friend, but I forgot where he said he lived," she lied. "He's in apartment…" She trailed off, hoping that because she did, he would finish the sentence, hence giving her the number.

He shrugged, "Got me. I've never been there. He just mentioned the name of the building in passing."

She nodded, "Ah. Ok. Well, I'll be sure to write it down next time," she continued with her front. "Thanks."

He smiled and walked away, and after a quick last sip of coffee, she dropped a tip on the table in front of her and gathered her belongings, her destination clear.

*****

--Monica waited near and in the lobby of Chandler's apartment building for over 2 hours, hoping he would be either coming or going at some point and she would get the chance to talk to him. Unfortunately, he never showed.

She thought briefly of checking at his work, but she dismissed the idea that he could be there, what with it being a Sunday and all. So, she staked out his apartment for as long as she could stand it.

Her being the kind of person who needs to keep busy, the very boring task of just standing around became more than just a little irritating to Monica, so she decided to head home, knowing her friends and brother would soon be looking for dinner.

--When she entered her apartment, Joey was already there, waiting for food with an empty plate in hand.

"Where have you been?" he asked worriedly, "I've been waiting here for 20 minutes!"

Monica jumped at his outburst, then eyed him warily. "Ya'know, you could cook dinner for yourself once in a while, right? What did you do before you moved in across the hall?"

"My Ma cooked for me!"

She rolled her eyes and sighed as she hung her purse on the hook. "Give me a minute to change, then I'll make dinner, ok?"

He could tell something was bothering her. "Hey, is something wrong?"

"Just-- Just a bad day… is all," she replied tiredly.

"If you want," Joey offered sympathetically, "I can just order Chinese food or something."

Monica smiled as she patted his head, appreciative of her friend's kindness. "That's alright," she hugged him. "I had planned to make spaghetti before--" She stopped short, and Joey noticed.

"Before…?"

Shaking her head, she pulled away from his embrace, "Nothing. Nevermind."

Just then Ross entered, and the attention flew off Monica and to her brother as he announced, "Dude! I have **the** best seats for the game tomorrow night!" He handed Joey the tickets as he hung up his coat, "Up for it?"

"Are you kidding?!" Joey exclaimed as he checked out the tickets, "I am **there**!"

Monica smiled as she slipped away to change, shutting her bedroom door to the sounds of her friend's and brother's excitement.

***

--"Hey, Chandler," Gunther half-waved, approaching him.

Chandler gave an up-nod, recognizing the stark blond-headed man immediately. "Hey, Gunther. How's it going?"

"Oh, pretty good," he replied, grabbing a half-gallon of milk off the cold grocery shelf. "Did Monica find you ok?"

Chandler froze at the mention of her name. "What?"

"She was looking for you earlier," Gunther muttered casually. "I couldn't remember your apartment number though."

Gunther started to walk away, and Chandler took a few quick steps to catch up. "You told her where I live?"

"Well, I told her the name of the building," he replied, then looked to Chandler. "Is that not ok?" he asked. "She told me you two were friends."

Taken aback by what he was hearing, Chandler could tell his reaction was causing the man he barely knew to become concerned, so he shook his head and smiled. "No, that's fine. We **are** friends, I just-- I didn't know she was looking for me."

Gunther seemed relieved. "Oh, ok." He started pushing his shopping cart again, "Yeah, I saw her at Central Perk earlier today. She said she couldn't remember where you said you lived, so…"

Chandler nodded, distracted with thought, "Yeah. Ok, thanks."

Gunther made a few more comments, but Chandler barely heard him, then they said their goodbyes and parted ways.

--He cut his shopping trip short, wanting to get home, wondering if when he got to his apartment, would Monica be there waiting for him?

***

--"Another great meal, Mon," Ross complimented his sister as he and all their friends sat around her apartment.

"It was just spaghetti, Ross," Monica dismissed the praise, "Pretty easy meal to make."

"For **you** maybe," Phoebe interjected. "For these guys," she gestured at Joey and Ross, "Anything that doesn't come with fries is something spectacular."

Everyone chuckled except for Monica, who offered just a slight smile in response to Phoebe's quip.

"What is wrong with you?" Ross asked. "You've been moping about all night!"

Monica, knowing Rachel's predisposition to gossiping, gave her a hard stare and shook her head just slightly as Joey added, "She was like that earlier too!"

"It's nothing guys, ok?" she assured them. "I just had a bad day is all. Haven't you ever had--?"

Her rhetorical question went unfinished, a knock at the door interrupting her, calling everyone's attention.

Usually by mid-evening, the only people that would be knocking on her door were the people already present and accounted for. They all looked at one another, and Joey and Phoebe both shrugged as Monica stood to answer the door.

Monica wouldn't normally peek through the peephole, unless it was after 10 or 11 P.M., but something made her look this time before opening the door. She gasped and pulled away from the door, her eyes landing on Rachel as she did.

Rachel could tell by looking at her friend who was at the door, and Monica seemed to be questioning her with her wide eyes as to what to do. Rachel shrugged just slightly, then sat at the edge of the chair as Monica turned towards the door.

She opened it just enough so as to peek out, not wanting her friends involved with the conversation that was about to take place. But it was already too late for that.

"Chandler," she whispered, "What are you doing here?"

****

TO BE CONTINUED…


	5. Five

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Five

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Monica wasn't sure if she was ready for the answer, but it was too late; the question was already out there.

"Chandler, what are you doing here?"

He could feel his resolve ebbing away as he stared into her intensely blue eyes. He knew if he didn't look away, he would lose his courage and end up fleeing, so he dropped his gaze to the floor.

She could hear her friends and brother inside her apartment murmuring amongst themselves, straining to peek out the tiny crack left by the door not being closed all the way, all from their spots on the couch and surrounding chairs.

He knew she was waiting for him to answer her question, but he wasn't exactly sure how best to proceed. He wondered, should he 'call her' on the conversation she'd had with Gunther, or should he admit to his earlier deception over the roses delivery? He sensed her annoyance growing as the seconds ticked by without him responding.

A feeling of dread, almost like a wave of nausea washed over her as she began to ascertain why he was there, and why he was having such a hard time answering her simple question. He knew about her conversation with Gunther. He knew she was at his apartment building looking for him.

The silence was unbearable, and she almost offered up excuses for her actions, just as a way of ending the uncomfortable moment, but then quickly decided, it wasn't a good idea to give out any details of her conversation with Gunther before she knew the full extent of Chandler's knowledge.

She'd already embarrassed herself by kissing him, she wasn't about to humiliate herself further by admitting to something, only to find out he'd had no prior knowledge to what she was confessing.

"Umm," he finally spoke up as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, plunging his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders tense up around his neck. "I ran into Gunther."

"Alright," she muttered eventually, reaching for her door and pulling it shut by the knob, preventing her brother and friends from watching or listening in further.

It wasn't the reaction he was expecting, although, he wasn't exactly sure what to expect. He thought she might get angry. Maybe deny it or downplay it, but in all the scenarios he imagined, he always pictured her **very** vocal and defensive. But, she wasn't either of those things. She muttered a simple word of acknowledgement, then lobbed the ball back into his court.

She stared back at him, waiting for him to say more so she could get some idea of what he did and did not know, desperately wanting to walk away from **this** conversation with a shred of dignity.

He chose his next words carefully, then cleared his throat as he continued. "He said you were, looking for me."

"Yeah," she admitted, "I was."

"Why?" The bluntness of his question made him shake his head as something of an apology, then he rephrased his inquiry, "I mean, what did you need me for?"

She shrugged, "I just-- I just wanted to talk to you."

"About?" he pressed further.

"About, what happened on Saturday."

He nodded. "About Saturday…"

Taking a deep breath in an effort to settle her nerves, she nodded in reply, "Yeah?"

"The roses," he confessed, "I wasn't asked to deliver them."

Her brow instantly furrowed. "They-- They were from you?" she asked. "The roses were from you?"

He shook his head from left to right sharply, just once, then hung his head, "No, the roses were from Peter, but, I could've sent a flower delivery person to deliver them."

"Why didn't you?" she asked hopefully.

"Because," he hesitated before answering, "I wanted to see you again."

She suppressed a smile, taking one slight step towards him. "Why?"

"I don't know," he said, flustered. "I don't know what it is I'm feeling. I mean, any man would have to be nuts, or gay not to be attracted to you, but this goes beyond that! And I don't understand it. And Peter likes you--"

"Chandler," she interrupted, "I am not interested in Peter. What will it take for you to understand that?"

"I **do** understand that," he insisted. "Unfortunately, I don't think Peter will."

"And that obviously **really** bothers you," she surmised.

He nodded, "Yeah."

"What is this strange hold he has on you?"

When he stiffened up, she cringed. He always did that in his boss' presence, or at the mere mention of his name, and his reaction wasn't unlike how an abused child might act after years of abuse.

"Look," she coaxed, "Why don't you come inside for some coffee and we can talk, alright?"

He seemed reluctant to say yes at first, but then she smiled, and touched his shoulder gently. He sighed at the simple contact, then nodded.

"Good," she whispered, then opened the door, hitting her 3 friends and brother as they were leaning against it, eavesdropping.

She glared at them as they all made attempts at explaining themselves, but she was having no part of it.

"It's time to go home now," she ordered crossly.

"See what you did!" Joey whined at Rachel, "You got us in trouble! Now we don't get pie!"

"Hey, don't blame me!" she defended herself, "**She's** the one that closed the door!"

"Because I wanted some privacy!" Monica shot back.

"Maybe I should go…" Chandler suggested, taking a step back towards the door.

"No!" Monica nearly shouted, then lowered her voice, "I mean, I would really like you to stay," she told him sincerely. "Please? They were just leaving," she added as she threw her brother his coat from off the hook near the door.

"Yeah, I have to go," Ross stated monotone, taking the obvious hint, shrugging into his coat as he stole glances at Chandler.

"But what about pie?!" Joey complained, his face scrunched in a pained expression.

Monica groaned, then marched over to the fridge, "Oh, for God's sake! Take it with you, Joey!" She handed it to him, and a smile instantly took over his face.

"Yeah, baby!"

"Ok, ok," Phoebe agreed, "We're going. But first, introduce us." She smiled at Chandler, who smiled back politely.

"Fine," Monica caved to her friend's request. "Chandler, this is my brother Ross, and my friends Rachel, Phoebe, and Joey. Everybody, this is Chandler."

Everyone shook hands with various comments like "Nice to meet you," then all but Rachel headed for the door.

"See'ya tomorrow, Mon," Phoebe called out as she crossed the hall into her apartment.

"And thanks for the pie!" Joey exclaimed, holding it up with a grin before entering behind Phoebe into their apartment.

Monica sighed as she closed her door, smiling as an apology before looking over at Rachel. "Isn't it bed time?"

She scoffed, "It's only 9!" Monica threw her a dirty look, and Rachel rolled her eyes, "Fine. I'll just catch up on my correspondence or something." She walked to her room, then called out, "Goodnight," before closing her door.

Monica smiled, "How about that coffee?"

He smiled as he nodded, "Sure."

"I would offer you pie to go with it, but…" She gestured towards the across the hall apartment, and Chandler nodded, indicating his understanding.

***

--Ross waited till Monica's door was shut, then walked back up the few steps he had descended, walking softly over to Phoebe's and Joey's. After a brief quiet knock on their door, he peeked in.

"Hey, Ross," Joey greeted, already having dished himself out a huge piece of Monica's famous cherry pie.

Ross took that as permission to enter, not that he thought for even a moment that he wouldn't be welcome. "What do you think of Chandler?"

Joey shrugged, "He seems nice enough, why?"

Ross grabbed a plate from the cupboard, then a fork from the drawer. "I don't know, I just-- I think he's the reason Monica is upset," he said as he cut himself a much smaller sliver of pie than what Joey had.

Joey eye's widened out of concern, "What are you saying?" He loved Monica, and if this Chandler guy was hurting her, he would squash him like a bug.

"I'm not saying anything," Ross assured him. "I'm just, not sure what to make of this guy yet."

"Well, you **did** only just meet him," Phoebe interjected as she entered the livingroom from her bedroom, "For an all of a minute 30 seconds. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt before assuming the worst?"

"I'm not assuming **anything**, Pheebs," Ross defended himself, "I just- I think he's connected with Monica's poor mood earlier."

"So, maybe that's why he's here. To talk things over with her," Phoebe offered.

"Maybe…" Ross just couldn't get the feeling of potential impending woe out of his mind.

Phoebe gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze, knowing how much he loved his sister and therefore, was overprotective of her. He was a good big brother and a great friend, but she felt his fears were unfounded. She didn't get a bad feeling with Chandler at all, in fact, when she shook his hand, she got the strong sense of a man with integrity and heart. She felt he would never purposefully hurt Monica, rather, he would be her protector.

She patted Ross' back before turning to grab a plate, joining her friends at the kitchen counter.

***

--"So," Monica started as she sat Chandler's coffee in front of him on the coffee table, on a coaster. "Tell me about your childhood."

"You sound like my shrink," Chandler quipped, gesturing a 'thank you' for the coffee before picking it up and taking a sip.

"You go to a shrink?"

His lack of judgement over cracking such a revealing joke made him wince, and he set his coffee back down on its coaster before responding. "I used to, when I was little," he explained. "My parents' idea."

Curious, she asked, "Why?"

"When I was 9, my parents got a divorce." He shrugged, "Guess they figured I needed help dealing with that."

"And did you?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I did." He sighed, "I mean, the divorce was hard, but, I think I handled that part ok. It was just, **why** they got a divorce that made it necessary for me to see a shrink."

Her curiosity was peaked. "And that was?"

"My dad decided he was gay and in love with the houseboy."

Monica's eyes widened in shock. "Wow."

"Yeah," he muttered, "Then my mom decided she wanted to try her hand at erotic novel writing, so, my childhood was bizarre, to say the least."

"Sounds it," she agreed. "Any siblings?"

"No, I'm an only child."

"You get along with your parents?"

Chandler squirmed, and Monica noticed the question made him uncomfortable. "No," he half-mumbled. "Not really."

"That's too bad." She paused before changing subjects. "How'd you end up working for Peter?"

That question seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. "It was a business decision to hire me," he answered vaguely.

She scowled, confused. "In what way?"

He knew he couldn't tell her the whole truth. Not because he didn't trust her, even though he hadn't really known her long enough to sure he could, but because the less she knew the better. For everyone. "Peter took over my father's company. That was supposed to be my financial security. When Dad retired, I was to take over. But, Peter took it over, in a hostile take-over, and as part of the deal, my dad arranged for me to have this job."

"Why would your dad want you to be some rich jerk's beck-and-call boy?"

Chandler scowled at her choice of words, but he knew she wasn't trying to insult him, so he let it go. "He actually wanted a better position for me, Peter offered this position or nothing."

"Aren't you afraid that he'll just up and fire you or something?" she asked. "I mean, what's to stop him?"

"The signed contract," he replied, tipping his coffee cup to his lips. "The only reason he can fire me, is if I'm disloyal to him."

A confused expression made way for understanding as the bigger picture started taking shape in her head. "And if you date me, he will see it as disloyal cause **he** likes me!"

Chandler half-smirked at how proud she seemed for piecing it together. "Exactly."

She sighed, "What a jerk." Chandler just shrugged in response. "Ok," she continued, "But, now, if your dad went to so much trouble to get you this job, cause he wanted you to have financial security or what-have-you… that sounds like a nice thing to do! So, why don't you get along with him?"

"Long story short," he began, "To test my loyalty to him, Peter made me 'out' my father."

"He was still in the closet?"

He nodded, "Pretty much. It was very embarrassing for him, and he's just never really forgiven me for choosing Peter over him."

"Why did you?"

He frowned, "To prove my loyalty to Peter."

"But, why? Why be loyal to the man that took your father's company and **your** future?"

"Because, this job is all I have. The amount of money I make, I wouldn't be able to come close at any other job anywhere! And it wasn't like I lied!" he defended his actions. "My father **is** gay!"

"But, don't you think it should have been his decision to--"

"Look," he interrupted her, "I know it sounds horrible, but, can you just believe me when I say I had very good reasons for why I did what I did?"

She looked at him for a moment, and she could see the turmoil in his sad blue eyes. "Yes," she smiled reassuringly, "I can."

He smiled slightly in return. "Thank you."

Several moments went by before she spoke again, asking, "What about your mom?"

"What about her?"

"You see much of her?"

He chuckled, "You sure ask a lot of questions."

She grinned, "It's what I do."

"I see her on rare occasions," he replied. "Usually when she's breezing through town on a book tour or something."

Monica smiled and nodded. "I just have one more question."

"Ever?" he asked jokingly.

She shook her head, "For now."

"Ah," he grinned. "What's the question?"

Placing her hand on his thigh, inching up his leg slowly, she asked, "Can I kiss you?"

TO BE CONTINUED…


	6. Six

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Six

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"I just have one more question." Monica said with a smile.

"Ever?" Chandler asked jokingly.

She shook her head, "For now."

"Ah," he grinned. "What's the question?"

Placing her hand on his thigh, inching up his leg slowly, she asked, "Can I kiss you?"

"Well, as much as I would like that…" He placed his hand on hers, stopping her ascent up his leg, his focus on the simple skin on skin contact. "I'm worried about where it would go from there."

"Well, I was kinda hoping it would lead to more," she replied honestly.

"It can't," he sighed. "As much as I would like to date you, I just can't."

"What if I spoke to Peter?" she suggested, to which he shook his head emphatically.

"I mean, you **can** talk to him, that's your right, but, I don't think it's a good idea to talk to him about this," he gestured between them. "About us," he added.

"There's an 'us'?"

"I think there might've been," he admitted. "Potentially."

"And now you don't? All because some snooty rich man you hold in much higher esteem than you probably should--"

"It's not about holding him in high esteem, Monica," he half groaned, interrupting her. "It's complicated."

"So you've said," she recalled. "And what is it exactly that's so complicated?"

"I-- I can't really go into detail."

"There's something more here than meets the eye, isn't there?"

He shook his head, "I can't say."

"You're making this harder than it needs to be, Chandler."

"Maybe, but I have my reasons."

"And these reasons, you either can't or won't share?"

"I can't, Monica."

"Well, what if we keep it from him?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "Keep what from who?"

"A relationship," she answered. "From Peter."

He scoffed, "Easier said than done. You don't know Peter like I do," he added seriously. "You don't get to a position of power like Peter has without knowing how to get information."

"Why would he go to the trouble for just me?"

"If only he looked at things as simply. Once he's made up his mind about something, he's inflexible. He wants you. And if he can't have you, he will expend much energy to find out who, if anyone, **does** have you."

"That is just ridiculous!"

"Maybe," he shrugged, "But it's how he operates."

"So, what then?" she asked, flustered. "That's just, **it**?"

"I think it kinda has to be."

"No," Monica insisted. "I don't accept this!" she snapped, but then her expression and tone softened, "I think we have the makings of something really incredible here. And I don't know about you, but this kind of connection doesn't happen to me often."

"It's never happened to me," he admitted.

"I'm not prepared to have my life dictated to me by some jerk who thinks just cause he has money, he owns me or something!"

"How would we go about having any kind of healthy relationship if we were constantly looking over our shoulders, trying to be sure he's not watching?"

"Look, it's not like we're criminals on the run. We would just need to be careful where we go. Like, don't eat in restaurants he likes or go to places he goes."

"We wouldn't be able to meet here," he gestured at her apartment as a whole. "He could very easily have the place watched."

"You have **got** to be **kidding** me."

He shook his head, "Unfortunately, I'm not."

She rolled her eyes, "What a loser."

"Loser or not, he has resources. It's even possible that at some point, he could assign the task of 'watching you' to me."

She was about to utter words of disgust, but stopped short, her eyes growing wide as an idea hit her.

"What?" he asked, noting the change in expression.

"That could actually work to our advantage. I mean, if you were in charge of that task, you could report back to him that I'm not dating anyone or whatever, and--"

"I wouldn't be the only person assigned to the task," he interrupted. "And if what I told him contradicted what others told him, then he would see me as disloyal--"

"And fire you," she completed his sentence. "I'm really beginning to hate this guy."

"Beginning to?" he chuckled grimly. "It's hopeless."

"I don't accept that," she retorted.

He covered his face with his hands, sighing deeply, "Why are you doing this? We barely know each other. You could walk away from this nightmare right now and be none-the-worse for wear. Why are you fighting for this? For us?"

She removed his hands from his face, holding them in her own as she inched towards him. "This is why," she whispered, then met his lips with hers, kissing him tenderly.

The kiss didn't stay gentle for long. Soon, they were both frantically returning the other's affections, consequences be damned.

His hand traveled into her hair, holding her tentatively to his lips as he expressed his feelings for her.

"You **do** feel something for me," she gasped as his lips traveled to her neck and the hollow of her shoulder.

"Of course I do," he mumbled as he licked and nibbled on her skin. "Why else would I risk everything to be with you?"

"So, we can--"

"I'll work it out," he answered before the question was even asked. "I don't know how yet, but, I'll think of something."

A sigh of relief escaped her as she climbed into his lap, rubbing herself against him. "I want to be with you, Chandler."

He groaned as he nodded. "But not here." He looked over at her large bay windows, knowing it was possible to see in from the building across the way. "Somewhere with more privacy," he requested.

"My room," she said, leaving his lap and standing, taking his hand.

He stood and let her lead the way, knowing he was about to enter into a dangerous relationship - knowing that being with her could and probably would lead to trouble - knowing she would be worth the risk.

*****~*****

--"I'm telling you, I think something is going on with her," Ross informed the group as they sat drinking coffee at Central Perk, everyone present but his sister.

"Why do you say that?" Phoebe asked curiously.

"Because, she takes off after work, going God-knows where! Coming home late--"

"Tell me about it!" Joey exclaimed, interrupting him. "I haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks!"

"Well, ya'know Joe, you could cook for yourself once in a while," Rachel teased, her tone mocking him.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "I'll get right on that."

"Anyway," Ross muttered in an attempt to move back to the subject of his sister, "Her behavior has not been typical lately and I'm starting to get worried."

"Why not just ask her about it then?" Phoebe suggested.

"I did!" Ross exclaimed. "She said nothing was wrong."

"Then maybe nothing is wrong," Rachel offered.

Ross shook his head as he went to take a drink of his tea.

"Hey," Joey interjected suddenly. "What ever happened to that Chandler guy?"

"I don't know," Phoebe answered. "After that one night, she never really spoke of him again."

"She seemed really into him," Joey continued. "Doesn't it seem a bit strange that she would just… **stop** being into him?"

They looked around at one-another, fairly certain by everyone's expressions that they were all thinking the exact same thing.

*****

--"I think my friends and my brother are starting to suspect something," Monica mumbled, laying her head upon Chandler's naked chest.

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, "What makes you say that?"

"They keep asking me questions," she explained, "Like, why am I always late coming home from work. And where do I go when I leave work."

"Well, maybe they're just worried about your late schedule," he offered.

Shaking her head, she sighed, "They've been asking about you, too."

He shifted his weight so he could look her in the eyes. "What kind of questions?"

She shrugged, "Like, why was I into you one minute, then never mention you again."

"And what did you say to that?"

"I was vague," she replied. "I just said it didn't do any good to talk about something you can't have."

He nodded, feeling her sadness at having to lie to her friends. "But you don't think that's the end of it, do you?"

"I don't know," she muttered, slipping out of the hotel room's bed and into a robe. "I know I don't like having to sneak around all the time."

He nodded. "But you knew it would have to be like this."

"I know," she conceded, "But I **was** kinda hoping we would **eventually** be able to go public with our relationship."

"Soon," he assured her. "Just, not yet."

"Why?" she asked, a touch of irritation to her voice. "What exactly is it that you're waiting for?"

"I can't say," he said as he hung his head, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm gonna have that embroidered on a pillow for you!" she snipped, storming off into the bathroom.

Within moments he heard the shower turn on, and he resigned himself to the fact that their lovemaking was officially over for the evening. He knew it upset her, his keeping things from her. Always keeping her in the dark about his life away from her. He wanted to tell her all his secrets, tell her everything about everything, but he knew he couldn't. It wouldn't be safe to.

He had asked her to trust him, and she said she did, but sometimes, she seemed to be growing somewhat impatient over his lack of straightforwardness. He sighed, knowing it was a mistake to date her, but he couldn't stop now. He cared too much for her.

He stepped into the steamy bathroom, closing the door quickly so that the warmth wouldn't escape. "I'm sorry," he apologized as he crept into the shower with her. "I know this is hard for you," he whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. "Please, just give me a little more time," he pleaded, running his hands slowly up her wet soapy body.

She leaned back against him, enjoying his touch, then nodded slightly.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he thanked her before turning her to face him, holding her tight to him as he kissed her. A gentle kiss meant to reassure her of his genuine feelings for her, and not one of lust or need.

"Am I going to like the real Chandler?" she asked several moments after the kiss ended, her head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. "The Chandler that's hiding behind all the secrets and stuff?"

"I hope so," he replied, kissing her wet hair.

She pulled back to look at him, a determined expression on her face. "Just tell me one thing," she asked of him. "Just one secret, to show that you trust me."

"I do trust you," he insisted. "It's not that."

"Than what is it?" she demanded. "And do **not** say: I can't say!"

He wiped the water that dripped off his hair away from his eyes, nodding to show his understanding. "Just one secret?"

She nodded, brushing his wet hair back with her fingers. "Just one secret," she reiterated.

He could have lied. He could have made something up and she would most likely never be the wiser, but he decided to be honest with her. He knew what he **couldn't** tell her, so he quickly gave thought to what he **could** tell her. Something that wouldn't be detrimental to her, or his ongoing task.

"Alright," he stated softly, his brain clicking on something. "When I lost my cell phone, and you returned it?" he reminded, and she nodded. "I didn't, exactly."

She scowled as she tried to follow. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when you asked me how it got in the bushes?" he continued.

She nodded, "Yeah…"

"He wouldn't stop calling me," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I was already walking his damn dog, and yet he **still** called to tack on more crap to my already enormous list of things to do." He shook his head, "I got pissed, so, I chucked it into the bushes."

A smirk grew across her face, and he looked at her questioningly. "Find that amusing, do you?" he asked bitingly.

"No," she denied, "It's just- it's good to know you **can** actually go against the great and powerful Peter Becker on occasion."

He scoffed, "Oh, believe me, I have no great love for the guy," he admitted.

"Then, why fall all over him like he's king of the world?"

"King of the world?" he chuckled. "I don't really."

"Oh, please! Chandler, you act like he's the end-all to everyone and everything."

"He demands my loyalty," he countered. "So, I give him that. It's expected, not requested."

"Yeah, well, it **should** be earned," she muttered disappointedly as she stepped back under the spray of water.

He sighed as he grabbed the hotel-sized bar of soap, working it into a lather before running it slowly up her back. "I know you don't like him. And I know you hate that I'm working for him, but, I have to."

"So you keep saying," she replied distantly.

"Don't shut me out, Mon," he pleaded. "Please."

"I just don't understand you! Why don't you just quit?! Tell the man to take a flying leap and quit! Then, we could be together!"

"We **are** together."

"Together **without** having to hide!" she snipped. "**Without** having to sneak away to second-rate hotels! **Without** having to lie to my brother and friends!"

"It won't be much longer," he promised.

"Until what?" she contented. "Until you include me in whatever you have going on? Until you decide to quit your job? Until you spontaneously combust? What is it that I'm supposed to be waiting for? **What** won't be much longer?"

"I can't--"

"You can't say," she interrupted, "Right, I know," she muttered bitterly.

He touched her intimately with soapy hands as he nuzzled against her neck. "I know you're frustrated, Monica," he said sympathetically. "But I'm asking you to trust me."

She sighed, allowing his touch to relax her, dissolving her irritation. "I do, Chandler," she breathed unevenly. "I do."

*****

--Chandler walked in the door of his apartment, dropping his briefcase on the recliner before heading for his room. He loosened his tie and undid the top few buttons on his shirt, then opened the drawer to his dresser, pushing unneeded items aside as he fumbled with the false bottom.

He popped open the door to the secret compartment, then retrieved the only item stored there- a cell phone.

Dialing the number by heart, he kicked off his shoes as he waited for the standard greeting.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end inquired, and Chandler plopped down on his bed and sighed.

"It's me," he replied. "We need to speed things up…"

****

TBC…


	7. Seven

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Seven

By: Jana~

*****

--"We need to speed things up," Chandler said into the phone, waiting for the inevitable concerned reply.

"What? Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened, Dad," Chandler sighed; his dad didn't disappoint. "Everything is still status quo. It's just," he hesitated, "It's Monica."

"I told you dating her would distract you!" Charles snapped angrily.

"Look, I'm not getting into this with you again, ok?" Chandler barked back. "I really care about her and I'm not giving her up because of this!"

"I'm not asking you to, but couldn't you have waited until **after** to start dating her?"

"She might not've been available had I waited," Chandler explained, exasperated with his dad. "It wasn't a risk I was willing to take."

"But taking the risk to be with her," Charles challenged him, "You're perfectly comfortable with."

"No," he argued, "I'm not at **all** comfortable with this situation. We're being careful, Dad, but being with her like this isn't enough anymore. For either of us. I want this over with," he added with a sigh. "Is there any way to speed things up?"

"Possibly," Charles replied, his tone cool and business like. "If you could get me a copy of the Sanderford file."

Chandler scoffed exaggeratedly, "Yeah, and while I'm at it, why don't I just sprout wings and fly over New York whilst shitting gold bricks!"

Charles dismissed his son's sarcasm. "I can get things accomplished a lot faster with the file. Otherwise, I have to rely on my contacts for the information, which could take months--"

"Fine, Dad, fine. I'll try to get a copy of the file!" he snapped. "You know, sometimes I see little difference between you and Peter."

"Yeah, well, the biggest difference is that I'm family," his dad stated sternly. "Plus, when this is all over, half of this will be yours."

Chandler scowled at his dad's words. "I don't even care about that anymore, alright? All I care about is Monica."

"Son," Charles ordered, "I need your head in this. This is no time to get sloppy."

Chandler startled when Peter's cell phone started ringing. "I'm not getting sloppy, I'm just getting sick and tired of it all."

"If you get me that file," Charles enticed his son, "I'll do my best to end this as quickly as possible."

"Fine," Chandler agreed. "I have to go. Peter is calling." He clicked off his father's phone without saying goodbye as he reached for Peter's phone. "Yes sir?"

"Chandler, did you have my racket re-strung?" Peter asked without so much as a 'hello' first.

Yes sir, Chandler thought to himself, and I'd really like to beat you with it.

The urge to come back with a sarcastic quip was overwhelming, but Chandler swallowed his instincts and pride. "Yes, sir."

He listened as Peter rambled on about tasks and meetings and schedules, responding with his typical 'yes, sir' wherever appropriate, until the blowhard finally began to wrap it up.

"I need you here tomorrow, six A.M.," Peter informed. "The Sanderford meeting is at eight."

The name Sanderford got Chandler's heart racing. There would be no better time to grab the file and make a copy. He forced his voice to sound neutral, "Yes, sir."

Peter clicked off the phone without saying goodbye, which was typical for him, and Chandler rolled his eyes as he too clicked off the phone at the sound of dial tone.

"And goodbye to you too, sir," he snipped sarcastically as he tossed the phone aside.

He placed his private cell phone back in the secret compartment of his drawer, then proceeded to change into comfortable clothes.

He knew that the task ahead of him would be tricky, and dangerous. If Peter caught him, he would be instantly fired, and all he and his father had worked for would be wasted. But if it went well, all of it would be over with in a matter of a few short weeks. Then, he could focus on a real relationship with Monica.

He smiled as he thought of her. She was the most amazing woman he'd ever met, and what was even more amazing, was that she wanted **him**. And what was even more amazing than that, was that they had been able to keep their relationship a secret from the nosy Peter Becker.

Chandler's smile dropped as he wondered, did Peter **really** not know, or was he keeping his knowledge a secret?

*****

--The Sanderford file. Chandler's best hope of leaving his months-long nightmare behind him once and for all. And it was right in front of him, sitting atop Alice's desk.

"Peter in yet?" Chandler asked the dutiful secretary casually as he drank his Starbucks coffee.

"Not yet," she replied as she continued to type one of several memos that were in front of her.

"Sanderford file?" he asked as he pointed at it.

"Yes," she answered, somewhat distracted.

"What about the Carey file?"

She looked up abruptly, "He wanted the Carey file, too?"

"That's what he told me," he said with confidence. "Better run and get it," he chuckled slightly. "You know how he can get when his files aren't all in order and accounted for."

She quickly grabbed her keys from her desk drawer and headed for the file room.

With a brisk casual motion, he swept the Sanderford file off the desk and tucked it into his jacket, then replaced it with a 'dummy' file to buy himself time, all while being careful not to be in frame of the oscillating security camera.

When Alice walked back around the corner, he plastered on his best smile and gestured towards the hall. "If Peter isn't here yet, I'm just gonna go grab a donut or something. Want anything?"

"No, thank you."

He nodded, then headed down the hall and for the elevator. His heart was beating a mile a minute, knowing if he were caught with the file, knowing if he didn't copy the contents quickly and get the file back on Alice's desk, he would be fired. Or worse. He didn't even want to think about the ' or worse' part. Peter was capable of anything.

He made his way out of the building, leery of anyone who even looked at him, wondering if his expression showed the terror he was feeling. Was it obvious to those around him that he was 'up to something'? He struggled to look calm and 'normal' as he left the building and headed down the street for the nearby do-it-yourself copy place.

As he entered Copycat Copiers, he rushed for a free machine, whipping open the file and frantically placing the first page from the folder on the machine.

There was at least a hundred pages, and he was beginning to panic when after several minutes, he still wasn't half done. Every second felt like a minute; every minute felt like an hour. He started to become paranoid, looking around him to see if he was being watched, anxiously wondering if Peter was somehow onto him and was having him followed.

Finally done, he neatly tucked all the original papers back in the file folder before grabbing the stack of duplicates and heading for the counter.

"How many copies you make?" the surfer wanna-be asked Chandler with slurred speech.

Chandler briefly considered the guy to be stoned, then decided that **that** was probably a good thing. "About one hundred," he replied.

"Oh, dude, I gotta count them if you don't know," the clerk informed.

Chandler knew the guy was in no condition to count quickly, so he quickly made up a believable number. "One hundred and thirteen copies."

"You sure?" the clerk asked warily.

"Positive," Chandler replied.

The clerk shrugged, "I'll take your word for it."

--Chandler paid for the copies, stuffed the papers in a bag the clerk supplied, then rushed out the door and back towards Becker Enterprises.

He made a quick stop in his office, placing the copies of the file in a secret compartment of his briefcase before briskly marching over to Peter's office, hoping and praying he wasn't too late.

--"Where's your donut?" Alice asked as Chandler approached.

"Ate it on the way," he lied, noticing the files were now missing from her desk. "Peter here yet?"

"He just arrived," she confirmed. "Go on in."

His heart leapt. If Peter opened the file, and saw that it contained blank papers, he was sunk.

He nodded to the secretary, then knocked before pushing open the large office door.

"Chandler, good," Peter greeted him, his voice unforgiving. "Just the man I needed to see."

Chandler swallowed the hard lump in his throat, forcing himself not to look worried, hoping to God he didn't look terrified.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did I tell you we needed the Carey file?" Peter asked as he picked it up, glancing through it.

"Didn't you, sir?"

"No, I don't believe I did."

Chandler could feel the perspiration beading on his forehead. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know where my mind was. Let me just run quick and return it to the file room."

Peter sighed in exasperation and tossed the file on his desk, on top of the Sanderford file. "Just be quick about it."

Chandler saw opportunity and grabbed it, literally. He grabbed both sets of files off the desk and made a hasty retreat, heading as quick as his feet would carry him without drawing attention to himself, towards the file room.

He unlocked the door, then darted inside, slamming the door shut behind him. Luckily, Peter was paranoid that lowly security guards would somehow be able to see file information on security cameras, so there were no cameras installed in the file room.

He swapped the dummy Sanderford file for the real file, then returned the Carey file to the 'C' drawer. He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm, then headed back for Peter's office.

--"Accidentally grabbed this one off your desk," Chandler informed as he extended the file towards his boss.

Peter took the file, eyed Chandler warily for a moment, then began to sift through the file. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he nodded, then pointed at a chair, ordering him to sit.

Chandler quickly took a seat, relief starting to wash over him as Peter began rambling about business in his usual fashion.

*****~*****

--"Sorry I'm late," Chandler sighed as he greeted Monica with a hug. "You would **not believe** the day I've had!"

"I'm sorry," Monica smiled sympathetically. "Want me to give you a back rub?"

He grinned, "Among other 'rubs'," he added, winking suggestively.

She led him to the bed, gesturing for him to sit before she climbed in and kneeled behind him, her fingers immediately going to work on his tense neck.

"I would ask you about your day, but I know you'd never tell me."

"Soon," he whispered as he began to relax into her touch. "I promise."

"You can't even tell me what has you so tense?" she asked, kneading a little harder his stiff muscles.

"You know I can't," he replied, sounding irritated, his muscles tensing further.

"Ok, ok," she conceded. "I'm sorry. Relax, ok?"

He nodded, and she could feel him start to relax again.

"Being with you at the end of the day is the only thing I have to look forward to," he admitted. "Did you know that?"

She smiled, "I feel the same way."

He slowly turned around to face her, and her hands left his neck as he did, dropping to her lap.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, then leaned in to kiss her.

The kiss was just starting to heat up when she abruptly pulled away.

"What?" he asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said with an awkward smile. "I'm just-- I'm not really in the mood tonight."

Disappointed but understanding, Chandler nodded. "Oh. Ok." He watched her for a moment, noting she seemed almost upset. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head, "I just have a headache."

Smiling, he encouraged her to lie back on the bed. "Let me see if I can help."

With soft gentle strokes, he caressed her forehead, her temples, around her eyes, helping her to relax so that the headache would leave.

"That feels wonderful," she purred. "You have no idea."

"I have a slight idea," he chuckled, then shushed her.

It was several minutes later, when Chandler abruptly asked, "Where did you get that watch?"

Monica's eyes shot open, and she looked from Chandler to the watch, then back again before stuttering her reply.

"Uh, Peter, actually, gave it to me. I think because he still wants to date me, but I told him I still wasn't interested."

Chandler just looked at her, an almost shocked expression on his face before he struggled to remove it from her wrist. Once he had it in his hand, he dropped it to the floor, then stood up and stomped hard on it.

"Chandler?! What are you doing?!"

He, for the most part, ignored her as he sifted through the pieces of metal and clockworks, finally finding what he was looking for.

Without any explanation, he grabbed all his and Monica's belongings, then drug her outside the hotel room, all the while her questioning him.

"Go back to your apartment," he told her once outside. "And lock the door. Don't answer it for anyone except me."

"Chandler," she interjected, "You're scaring me."

Chandler ran his hand through his hair in frustration, "Peter knows about us."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Well, if he didn't before he gave you the watch, he knows now."

"What are you talking about?"

"The watch had a bug in it," he informed. "You know, a listening device?"

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly," Chandler muttered, then grasped her shoulders. "I'm probably being overly paranoid, but I wouldn't put anything past this man, ok? Go home, lock the door, and don't answer it for anyone but me, alright?"

Stunned, she nodded.

"Good." He kissed her gently, then headed for the street to hail a cab. "I have to do some damage control," he told her, "But then I will be by to explain everything.

"Everything?" she questioned, wondering if he truly meant 'everything'.

"Yes," he nodded. "Everything. But I don't have time right now," he added. "I need you to go home where you'll be safe." His eyes searched hers, desperate to convey just how important his instructions were. "I need to be sure you're safe."

She nodded her understanding. "Alright, Chandler."

He hailed her a cab, making sure she was safely on her way home before hailing a cab of his own. Chandler knew at that moment, nothing would ever be the same ever again.

*****

--Monica slowly entered her apartment, grabbing a piece of paper from her purse before hanging it on it's designated hook. She looked blankly at the seven digits for a moment, then grabbed the phone, hesitating for just over a minute before dialing the number scribbled on the paper.

"It's Monica," she said into the phone. "Chandler found the bug."

****

TBC


	8. Eight

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Eight

By: Jana~

*****

--Monica slammed down the phone in disgust, looking around the room as if it would present solutions to her current dilemma, but the incredibly neat and tidied room offered zero answers. 

With an irritated sigh, she grabbed her purse off the hook and reached for the doorknob. The door swung open, narrowly missing her before her hand even made contact with the brass fixture.

"Hey, where you off to?" Rachel asked Monica as she entered their apartment.

Monica groaned as she walked past her roommate and continued out the door. "I have something I have to do."

*****

--With a hesitant stride, Monica approached Chandler's apartment, staring at the gold numbers on the door for a moment before knocking. No answer.

Maybe he's in the bathroom, she thought to herself, so she knocked again. Louder. And waited… still no answer.

"Perfect," she grumbled to herself, shaking her head before turning to leave.

As she turned, she jumped as she found herself face to chest with a very large, seemingly unfriendly man. Fear shot through her like bolts of electricity, not only because he was quite large, but because she didn't even hear him step up behind her.

She smiled weakly at him, making several unsuccessful attempts to move past him, but he matched her movements.

"Monica Geller?" he asked, his voice so deep it almost sounded inhuman.

She considered lying to the enormous man, but something made her squeak out, "Yes?"

He nodded. "Come with me, please."

"Where are we going?" she asked, both curious and scared.

"Just come with me, please," he demanded, his disposition unyielding. 

She didn't feel like she could refuse, though going with him to what would probably be referred to later as the 'secondary crime scene' didn't appeal to her either, but her options were obviously limited. 

This is the night I die, she thought to herself as she followed the man down to the lobby and out the door of the building.

He wasn't holding onto her, so the idea of running away **did** enter her mind, but what if he had a gun? He could shoot her in the back as she fled.

Better to wait and see where we're going, she thought. To see if a better opportunity for escape presents itself.

She followed her captor, hugging herself tightly as she forced herself not to panic. 

***

--The streets seemed strangely empty as Monica closely followed the man in front of her. She didn't know where he was taking her, leading her, but wherever it was, it was close enough that no car was needed.

She tried to decide if that was a good thing. It would be harder to escape from a moving vehicle. Or from a locked trunk. She drew in a shaky breath as that thought flitted through her head. If they, whoever 'they' was, was going to kill her, would they at least do it quickly, or would she be made to suffer?

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice strained with fear. The man didn't answer her, or even acknowledge her.

--It was only a little more than a block away, but the difference between the two buildings was stark. Chandler's apartment building was a really nice middle-upper class complex, with luxury amenities; the building she and 'the Hulk' had entered was run down, unkempt, and very poorly lighted.

Subconsciously, Monica held her breath as her abductor knocked on the door they stood directly in front of, uttering a sentence of words that made no sense when asked by someone on the other side for the password.

The password must have been correct, because seconds later, the door swung open. The burly man gave her a gentle push through the door, and when she stumbled in, her eyes immediately darted about, quickly taking in her surroundings. 

There were several men in the room, most of them dressed very well and looking very out of place in such a dumpy apartment. Then, her eyes fell onto a familiar face.

"Chandler," she breathed, rushing to him.

"What are you doing here, Monica?" he asked softly, gathering her into his arms, his tone denoting that he really wasn't all that surprised to see her.

"I had to talk to you," she replied, her body shaking as the adrenaline that had been rushing through her veins started to take affect.

He could feel her tremble. "Are you alright?" he asked as he pulled back, framing her face with his hands.

"I am now," she whispered, smiling as she stared at his deep blue eyes, forcing herself to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I'm sorry if Frank scared you," he apologized, guessing at what had her so distraught. "He's intimidating, but wouldn't hurt a fly. Unless told to."

"Comforting," she mumbled unconvincingly. 

He offered a small smile to help put her at ease. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

She glanced around, noticing that all eyes in the room where on her. "Is there any way we could talk in private?"

"Sounds serious," he surmised. "Is something wrong?"

"Who are all these people?" she asked, virtually ignoring his previous question.

"Oh! I'm sorry." He gestured towards one of the sharply dressed individuals. "This is my father, Charles. Dad, this is Monica. And these are, associates of my father's," he added, somewhat hesitantly.

Monica nodded politely, then turned back to Chandler. "Is this, like, a mob type thing?" she asked sotto.

Chandler chuckled. "No, no," he assured her. "Nothing like that."

"Then what is this?" she wanted to know. "What's going on? Why are you here? And more importantly," she added, "Why am **I** here?"

"I had someone watching you at your apartment," Chandler admitted. "To be sure you were safe. When you left," he continued, "I had you followed."

"You were spying on me?" she asked, her tone edging anger. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes," he said calmly, "I **do** trust you. It's Peter I don't trust." He grasped her shoulders gently, "I wanted to protect you, Monica. I had you followed-- I had you brought **here** to insure your safety."

"And where is **here**, exactly? I mean, I thought you didn't get along with your father," she said as she watched Charles and the other men out of the corner of her eye.

"A ruse," Chandler informed. "And I'm sorry I had to lie to you, but, I had very good reasons."

Monica took a deep cleansing breath. "And those reasons are?"

Chandler nodded as he pulled up a chair. "It **is** about time I explain things to you," he said as he gestured for her to take a seat.

"Can she be trusted?" a man asked, the question more aimed at Charles than Chandler.

"Yes," Chandler assured them, answering before his father could. "I would trust her with my life."

Monica smiled inwardly at Chandler's trust in her.

"You're sure, son?" Charles asked. "We've come too far now for slip-ups."

"Positive," he replied with confidence as he smiled at Monica. "It all started when Peter decided he wanted my father's company," Chandler began. "He tried to get Dad to sell, but he refused. Because Peter does **not** like to lose, he refused to take 'no' for an answer, so he started to have him tailed."

"You'll have to forgive me," Monica quipped sarcastically, "I left my spy-to-English dictionary at home."

"Followed," Chandler clarified. "To get any information that might be useful as a trump card." He could see the confused expression on Monica's face. "You find out something about your opponent that he or she doesn't want known," he explained. "Then, you pretty much blackmail them with it. And it worked," he continued. "He **did** find out something about my father that he could use. He found out that my father was, at that time, a closet homosexual."

"How was he able to find **that** out? I mean, if your dad was in the closet…" she trailed off.

Chandler glanced over at his father, seeking his approval before replying. "He was in the closet as far as the business world was concerned," he explained. "Occasionally, he went to clubs, like on the weekends, and Peter found that out. He threatened to 'out' him if he didn't sell him the company. That was Peter's trump card. That, among other things," he conceded.

"What other things?" Monica asked.

Chandler caught a glimpse of his father shaking his head. "Just, business stuff," was his vague answer, "But it all came down to Peter forcing our hands and bullying us into selling him the company. And since that day, we have been working on a plan to get the company back. That's why I hired on as Peter's assistant. Dad needed someone on the inside."

"But, then, I thought you 'outed' your dad to prove your loyalty to Peter."

Chandler nodded, "Yes, but I called Dad first and warned him. Asked him for his opinion. We decided, it was more important to keep me on the inside than to protect his secret."

"So, you've been a spy this whole time?"

He chuckled at the analogy. "Yeah, something like that. And now," he added, "We finally have enough information and financial backing and support to get the company back from him."

"Information? What kind of information?"

The way Charles eyed her suspiciously made Monica wince; almost cower. He didn't like her, she had that much figured out.

Charles gestured for Chandler to approach him, then he leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Chandler nodded.

"There's been some illegal activities, on Peter's part," Chandler explained carefully. "And let's just leave it at that."

"What if he still won't?" Monica asked. "Sell the company back to you I mean."

"Oh, he will," Charles interjected. "And now sharing time is over." He turned to Chandler, "Be sure she gets home alright, then we need you back here."

*****

--"Sorry my father isn't very sociable," Chandler apologized to Monica, "He's just really preoccupied at the moment."

She nodded, "I understand."

Leaning in, he gently kissed her lips, but sensing her hesitation, he pulled back. "Tonight has been hard for you," he suggested, and she nodded.

"To say the least."

"I know it's all kinda hard to understand. Hell, I'm in the middle of it and I don't completely understand it, but, I do understand this," he paused before continuing. "I'm in love with you, Monica."

"You're… in love with me?" she stammered, taken by surprise by his admittance.

"Yes," he reiterated. "And I am just really hoping that tonight hasn't changed anything between us."

She scowled, confused by his comment. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think any less of me now? Do you dislike the 'real Chandler'?"

"Why would I think any less of you? For trying to help your dad get back his company? For having the courage to take on **the** Peter Becker?" She shook her head, "No, I don't think any less of you. You are the same Chandler I've been with all these weeks, I just know more now than I knew before."

"And what you **now** know, you're ok with?"

She nodded, leaning up against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm in love with you, too, Chandler," she confessed, then smiled before kissing him.

"What did you mean before," she asked as she slowly ended the kiss, pulling back to look in his eyes, "When you said Peter has done illegal stuff?"

He shrugged, "There is this guy, a businessman, James Sanderford, that Peter has had business dealings with. Illegal dealings," he stated quietly. "It's better if you don't know the details."

"You're not in danger, are you?"

"No," he shook his head. "Having this information actually protects me, in a way," he told her. "But the fewer people who know the details, the better." He kissed her lips softly. "You can understand that, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "I can understand that."

He smiled, his fingers raking through her hair to rest at the crown of her head. "Thank you," he whispered, then pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

"Hey, Mon," Rachel's voice startled the two lovers apart. "You have a Chandler on your face."

Chandler chuckled, mostly to himself, but Monica was more irritated than amused.

"Yes, Rachel," she spoke through gritted teeth. "Thank you."

Rachel smirked, then turned to Chandler. "Good to see you again," she said politely, indicating with her tone of voice that she was curious as to why he was there.

"Likewise," he returned cordially, then addressed Monica. "I'll let you field this one, I have last minute business to attend to."

Monica silently asked of him, I can tell my friends?

He could read the question in her eyes, and he smiled as he nodded. "I'll call you as soon as I can," he promised her, then kissed her quick one last time before walking away and down the nearby steps.

"Oh my God!" Rachel exclaimed, "What is going on?!"

"Rachel," Monica whined, "I feel like I've just been thrown into a bad B-rated spy movie, ok?" They both walked through the door of their apartment, "Give me a minute to change first?" she asked as she tossed her purse on the table.

"Sure," Rachel agreed, watching her tired friend drag herself to her room.

--"It's Monica," she said into her bedroom phone, speaking quietly so her roommate wouldn't overhear. "I went to see Chandler," she informed, "And I need to talk to you."

***

--Chandler walked through the door after giving the correct password, the meeting still under way.

"Chandler," Charles greeted his son. "Monica get home ok?"

"Yes," Chandler replied, joining the other men around the conference table.

"I hope you're right about her," Charles said with concern. "I hope she is trustworthy."

"She is," Chandler assured him, as well as the other businessmen.

"Still," Charles added, "You didn't tell her anything about the Sanderford file, did you?"

Chandler shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "No, Dad," he lied. "I didn't."

****

TBC


	9. Nine

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Nine

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Monica found it to be a challenge, trying to get Rachel to stop asking a million questions about Chandler. With her nosy and gossipy nature, Rachel wasn't willing to drop the matter easily.

"Rachel," Monica pleaded, "I really can't say anymore."

"Can't or won't?" Rachel whined. "C'mon Mon! I'm your best friend!"

"I know that!" Monica shot back, "And I would tell you if I knew, but, I just really don't know much of anything at this point!"

"Fine." Rachel seemed to accept Monica's denial of knowledge, abruptly moving on to a different subject of interest. "So, is he a good kisser?"

"Yeah," Monica smiled. "He is."

Rachel was pleased with that answer. "Ok," she prompted happily, "Kiss and tell! What else is he good at?"

"Rachel," Monica half-scolded, "I'm not going into detail!"

"You're no fun!" Rachel huffed. "Guess I'll just take a bath and head off to bed then." She grabbed a cheesy romance novel from her bedroom, then headed for the bathroom. "Nora Bing's new novel," she informed as she held the book up for Monica to see. "And **she** kisses and tells!"

"Yeah," Monica muttered, holding back a grin. "And do you know who that is?"

"Who who is?"

"The author," Monica said casually, "Nora Bing? Is Chandler's mother."

"Whoa!" Rachel exclaimed. "Wait-- wait a minute! You're kidding, right?!"

"Nope," Monica shook her head. "Not kidding."

"Oh my God!" Rachel shrieked. "I **love** her books! Can he introduce me?!"

Monica rolled her eyes. "I think he's just a wee bit preoccupied with more important matters at the moment," she patronized.

Rachel scoffed, "Well, I didn't mean right this second!"

"I'll ask him in a day or two," Monica sighed. "Ok?"

Rachel did a little hop, obviously excited as she continued on her way into the bathroom to take her bath.

--Monica could hear Rachel turn on the bathtub faucet, whimpering softly as she sunk into the warm water a few minutes later.

She plopped down on the couch, her brain racing as it replayed the day's events.

"What have I gotten myself into?" she asked herself as she rubbed her temples, a severe headache already taken hold. "Better question, how do I get myself out of it?"

*****

--"You know what to do tomorrow?" Charles asked his son after all his business associates left.

"I think so," Chandler muttered, nodding.

"**Think** so?" Charles asked anxiously. "Son, there is no margin for error with this, alright? You can't just--"

"It's just an expression, Dad, ok? Would you try to have a little faith in me for once?"

"I do have faith in you, it's just that, without the meeting, none of this will be--"

"I know. I know how important it is that I get you the meeting with Peter," he sighed, exasperated. "Why don't you just add some more pressure and see if you can't get my brain to explode?!"

Charles patted Chandler on the back, showing his understanding and support, then quietly grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, his bodyguard, Frank following behind.

Chandler sighed as he pushed the chairs in around the conference table, his heart beating just a little faster than normal as he stressed about the plan that was about to be put into action. He knew he would be getting little sleep, knowing what lie ahead on the other side of the darkness of night.

Daybreak. A new day. A day that would be one of the most intense of Chandler's life.

"No going back now," he muttered to himself as he headed out the door and for his own apartment. "Maybe I'll get lucky and get murdered on the way," he scoffed grimly.

***

--"Hello?"

"Monica," Chandler smiled when he heard her voice. "Sorry to call so late," he apologized.

"That's ok," she replied groggily, sitting up in bed and turning on the bedside lamp. "Is everything ok?"

"Tomorrow's the day," he confided in her. "And I guess I'm just a little bit nervous."

"I can understand that," she soothed. "I don't understand everything that's going on, but I **do** understand that."

"I'm worried that something is going to go wrong," Chandler told her. "That I'm going to let my father down, as well as his associates. There's a lot riding on me, and if I mess up…"

"You won't," Monica assured him supportively.

"This company means everything to my father," he lamented. "And it's literally all up to me. I mean, once they get in there, then they'll take over, but getting them in there. That's my job. And if I fail…"

"I know, but Chandler," she said firmly, "You can't do this to yourself. Even if it doesn't work out according to plan, you have already done so much for your father. Taken a job as whipping boy for a horrible man, basically putting your life on hold, all because you care about him. And respect him. If he can't see that…"

"It's not as simple as that, unfortunately," he sighed. "My dad **does** appreciate my help, but if I fail in getting him into Peter's office, **that** is what he'll remember till his dying day. Not the months of sacrifice, but that I messed up in the end. When it mattered most."

She could hear the pain in his voice. "I wish I was there right now, to massage your back or something. You sound so tense."

"I passed tense hours ago. I've moved on to a pretzel-like state."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"As appealing as that is, I couldn't ask you to do that," he declined. "It's **so** late…"

"Ok, so, why don't **you** come **here**?" She grinned as she lowered her voice into a sexy growl. "I'll make it worth your while."

Chandler shuddered at the possibilities. "I'll be right over."

*****

--"Your dad doesn't like me," Monica stated as she lay naked in Chandler's arms.

"He's just paranoid," Chandler defended him. "He doesn't know you well enough to form an opinion one way or another."

"He doesn't trust me then," she rephrased.

"He can be a very distrusting person," he affirmed, "But, he trusts my judgement… for the most part."

"You trust me, right?" she asked, kissing his chest.

"Of course I do."

"You're in danger, aren't you? Because of what you 'have' on Peter."

He sighed, pulling her closer. "A little bit," he admitted, "But don't worry about that, ok?"

She scoffed. "How can I **not**?!"

"The chance of bodily harm is slim, if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, **that's** comforting," she muttered sarcastically. After a moment's silence she asked, "How slim?"

"If Peter were to find out what I've been up to **before** the meeting, **before** the trump card was played, he might have one or two of his thugs work me over a bit, maybe break a limb or two. Or all four."

"Oh, God," she whispered.

"Please don't worry, ok, Mon? I can take care of myself. And besides, I don't think he knows anything."

If he could've seen Monica's expression just then, he might not have been so sure.

*****

--Chandler walked into Becker Enterprises, trying to look comfortable and confident, and not uneasy and scared. Was it just his imagination, or was everyone staring at him?

Get the meeting. Get the meeting, he kept chanting silently inside his head as he headed down the long corridor. He had to get Alice away from her desk. She would be his unwitting accomplice.

He'd spent months learning to copy her handwriting, which was no easy task considering she wrote so very neatly. Sloppier would have been easier to forge, Chandler thought.

If he could get her away from her desk, and he timed it just right with the oscillating security cameras, he could forge Peter's appointment book and add his Dad's alias to the schedule.

Why was the theme from Mission Impossible suddenly going through his head?

He shook it off and took a deep breath, Alice's desk suddenly within view. He didn't even know how he got there.

"Morning, Alice," he greeted her casually. At least he hoped he sounded casual. "Peter in?"

"Not yet," she replied distantly. 

They'd always been cordial to one another, but she never really seemed to like him. She was always just cordial enough, without giving any extra.

After today, he reminded himself, it won't matter.

"Hey, Alice, what happened to the Montgomery file?"

She scowled in response. "Why?"

"I was looking for it, but couldn't find it," he said nonchalantly. "Did you put it back after the meeting Wednesday?"

She sighed as she grabbed her keys from her desk, "Yes," she snipped, irritated. "I'll go get it."

"Thank you, Alice," he said with a smile, to which she just rolled her eyes.

"Don't forget to feed your flying monkeys," he muttered quietly to himself when she was out of earshot, watching her walk away till she was out of view.

He glanced at the security camera, waiting for it to move to the other side of the room before quickly turning the appointment book on Alice's desk toward him. He grabbed her pen, peeking back in the direction of the file room to be sure the coast was still clear, then began to forge her writing, adding a Mr. Dennis to the book.

He stopped quick as the camera found its way back to where he was, and he leaned against the desk, lazily tapping his fingers on the edge until the camera moved away again.

He knew he didn't have much more time. He'd hidden the file he'd asked Alice to find, but not so much so that she wouldn't be able to track it down. He moved it out of alphabetical order by only a few letters.

Finishing the entry, he turned the book back into position just as Alice approached.

"What were you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

"With the appointment book," she elaborated.

"Just looking at today's appointments, is all." The lie rolled off his tongue easily. "Is that the file?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

She paused for a moment, still eyeing him suspiciously, then nodded. "Yeah. It was placed behind the Miller file."

He chuckled, "Well, we all make mistakes," he said as he took the file from her hand, pretending to be interested in something within the pages.

"**I**, did **not** make the mistake, **sir**," she snipped, upset by his words.

"Hey, it's no biggie," he assured her, knowing he was upsetting her but continuing to tug at the thread anyway. "No one is perfect."

If she was flustered, she would be more apt to gloss over the newer entry in the appointment book, and he knew which buttons to push with her.

"No, I **know** I'm not perfect, **Mr. Bing**, but **I** would never make such a mistake!"

"Yeah, well, maybe the file fairies got in there and rearranged some things," he patronized. "Maybe you should check and see if any other files were 'disturbed'."

She huffed at his smug sarcastic demeanor, then sat back at her desk, the appointment book directly in front of her. "What is this?"

Chandler's heart stopped. This was it. Convince her, and Peter would go along with whatever she said. If he failed to convince her, he was sunk. She would tell Peter that someone had tampered with the book, maybe even implicate Chandler, since he had been hovering over it.

"What's what?" he asked, pretending to have little interest as he continued to browse through the file in front of him.

"This appointment with Mr. Dennis. I don't remember writing this."

"Maybe Peter did," he suggested. "Does it look like his writing?"

"No," she said, puzzled. "It looks like mine."

He tore his eyes away from what he was reading, supposedly reading, and gave her appointment book his attention. "Looks like your writing to me. Maybe you were just tired when you jotted it down."

"No," she shook her head. "I swear it wasn't there earlier this morning."

He was losing. He forced a chuckle, "More fairies?" he asked, mocking her. "File fairies and appointment book fairies. What a whimsical place!"

"I don't appreciate your tone, **sir**," she shot back.

He shrugged, "Sorry," he apologized with a hint of ridicule to his tone. "Just trying to be helpful."

She studied the book for a moment, and Chandler watched her out of his peripheral vision. Finally, she sighed and pushed the book aside.

"Remember writing it now?" he asked, trying not to sound like he cared too much about her answer.

"Not really, but, I did have a headache last night. I **guess** it's possible that I just simply forgot."

"Good," he said with a kind tone. "Mystery solved then." He handed her back the Montgomery file, "And I'm done with that now." She glared at him. "But I can put it away," he added off her look of disdain.

--He walked away, inwardly emotional at knowing he had just successfully completed phase one. Now, it was on to phase two.

***

--Monica paced the floor, knowing that at any minute, she would be the bearer of bad news. She wished she didn't have to be. She wished she knew how to get out of it. All of it. She hated her current situation, but a way out of it was nowhere in sight.

The knock at the door startled her, stopping her dead in her tracks. Slowly, she opened the door, offering the individual on the other side a strained smile.

"You needed to talk to me?"

"Yeah," Monica said softly, her mouth dry as cotton because of nervousness. "And it's not good news." 

****

TBC

Please leave a review!


	10. Ten

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Ten

By: Jana~

*****

--Chandler chewed his lip nervously as he sat at his desk, awaiting the cue to begin phase two.

He knew that at that very moment, his dad, sporting a fake mustache and using an alias was down in the lobby, trying to get past security. If his dad and associates were successful, he would be receiving a code on his beeper: 888. If they failed, he would be paged with the code 222.

If they failed, he would have to leave the building, and fast. If they failed, it would most likely mean that Peter was onto them. And if he was, Chandler could very well be in danger.

The abrupt sound of the beeper caused Chandler to jump, and he immediately grabbed it with a shaky hand, hitting the 'message received' button so as to stop the annoyingly shrill noise. After taking a deep cleansing breath, he forced himself to look at the three-digit number that would be deciding his next course of action.

Eight-eight-eight. He audibly sighed with relief.

"Stage two," he whispered, then grabbed his briefcase and opened the secret compartment, pulling out documents and information that took months to gather. He put them in an accessible pocket within the briefcase, then clicked it shut and headed for Peter's office.

--The corridor never seemed longer as he marched with false confidence towards his destiny. He could hear his father's associate talking to Alice, making small talk for the most part as they awaited word from Peter that they could go in.

Chandler approached, avoiding eye contact with his dad as he addressed Alice. "Janine in human resources says she needs to see you, ASAP," he said with an ardent tone of voice. "She says it's important."

Alice groaned as she stood, "These gentlemen are waiting for their 3 o'clock with Mr. Becker," she informed. "Please tend to them?"

"Of course," Chandler agreed easily.

He threw an intense look towards his father as the sound of Peter's voice came over the intercom, "Alice? Send Mr. Dennis and associates in please."

Charles nodded at his son, the only communication he dare risk as there was still a ways to go before their plan was accomplished and considered successful.

Chandler let everyone else file in first, then followed behind, his heart racing and his palms perspiring. He wondered how his dad could appear so calm.

"What is this?" Peter asked, sensing that something wasn't quite right. Chandler just looked back at him like a deer caught in oncoming headlights.

"This," Charles announced as he pulled the fake mustache from his upper lip, "Is the meeting you've been dreading and I've been looking forward to since the day you stole my company from me."

Peter glared, then scoffed as he moved to stand beside his desk, his finger poised over the security pager button.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Charles warned, then looked to Chandler.

Chandler took his cue and quickly removed the papers from his briefcase, handing them to his father.

"You traitor," Peter seethed, taking his hand away from the button as he glared hard at Chandler.

Chandler closed his briefcase with a dramatic click of the locks. "I'll just go clear out my office," he informed, trying to sound like he wasn't scared to death, then headed for the door.

"Thank you, son," Charles stated proudly. Chandler had never heard his father sound so proud, and he smiled as nodded in response before walking out the door.

--Wanting to be gone by the time his father and associates left the building, Chandler quickly packed his things, throwing them without concern into a cardboard box. It wasn't so much that he was worried about bodily injury, but he didn't want to be face to face with Peter, listening to him ramble on, admonishing him for being a traitor.

If I never see that man again, he thought to himself, it will be too soon.

--It was only 15 seconds later than the last time he'd checked his watch, but he was too nervous to have an accurate concept of time. The meeting would be over soon, he guessed, and he wanted to be out of the building before it ended.

As he balanced his box of belongings in one arm, he carefully reached for and closed his office door for the last time. The latch clicking shut caused an eerie echo that almost made him shiver.

He'd always hated his job, **and** the building he worked in, but somehow it seemed creepier now that he was an enemy within the premises.

--He headed for Peter's secretary, prepared to hand over his company cell phone to her so that he wouldn't have to hand it over to Peter personally.

"Why are you giving me this?" Alice asked, then looked curiously towards the box in his arm.

"Because," he told her, "I'm leaving."

"For where?" she asked, confused.

He shook his head, "Forever. I'm leaving the company."

She gasped in shock, "Why? What happened?"

"It's a long story," he dodged the question.

"Were you fired?" she questioned.

"If I weren't quitting I would be," he explained.

Just then Charles and his associates walked out of Peter's office, the hint of a smile on Charles' face when he saw Chandler standing there.

"Isn't that--?" Alice started to ask, noticing that 'Mr. Dennis' no longer had a mustache, and looked remarkably like Chandler's father.

The full question never made it out into the tense air, and it was never really acknowledged as Peter appeared in the doorway.

"Chandler," Peter called out, not angrily, but firmly. "Could I see you for a minute?"

"Yes, sir," Chandler's mouth answered before his brain could stop to think. He rolled his eyes when he realized that he called Peter 'sir'. He had become so accustomed to answering in that manner, it was like second nature to do so. Old habits die hard.

He hesitated before turning and facing his father, handing over to him his box of belongings. "I'll catch up with you later," he told his dad, his voice politely quiet.

Charles could tell by the expression on Chandler's face that he was ready for a confrontation.

"Be good," Charles whispered as he took the box from his son.

"I will," Chandler replied unconvincingly, then turned to face his adversary.

Peter gestured for Chandler to enter his office, then closed the door ominously after Chandler was inside.

Not knowing exactly what to expect from the conversation that was about to take place caused an adrenaline rush to surge through Chandler, making him instantly nauseous.

"I'm disappointed in you Chandler," Peter started. "And just a little bit impressed."

All the feelings Chandler had repressed for all the months he'd worked for the man in front of him was begging to be released, and for the first time ever, without considering the possible consequences, he blurted out what he really wanted to say.

"None of this was for the purpose of impressing you, **sir**."

Chandler's tone was thick with contempt, especially when he emphasized the word 'sir', and Peter looked at him with surprise.

"Chandler has a backbone?" he asked rhetorically. "What a surprise."

"I think I've proven today that I'm full of surprises," Chandler shot back.

Peter nodded. "I underestimated you," he admitted. "And your father. But, you know, all is not as perfect as you might think."

"And what exactly is **that** supposed to mean?"

"Did you honestly think you had me fooled?" he asked, and Chandler's brow furrowed. "Did you think I didn't know? Do you think I fully trusted you?" He laughed, "Believe me, I didn't. Not by a long shot. I had people watching you. Reporting back to me…"

"Then why didn't you stop me?" Chandler asked incredulously. "Why not call me on it? Or fire me?"

Peter shook his head. "I didn't have enough information to do that. I wasn't exactly sure **what** you were up to. If I continued to employ you, I could more easily watch you. Maybe find out what you had been scheming." 

"That's why I gave you inane jobs and assignments," he added. "Walking my dog? Going to the dry cleaners and picking up my suits? Having my racket re-strung? How lazy do you think I am? I assigned **you** those jobs to keep you busy. I wasn't **about** to give you tasks of any **real** importance."

"I'll have to admit though," he continued, "I am relieved that it was **just** your piddly little company you were after." He chuckled, "I thought you might actually be after something **worth** a damn!"

Chandler glared at the man for a moment, then turned to leave.

"You're not even the tiniest bit curious?" Peter asked smugly.

Chandler stopped at the door. "About what?" he questioned.

"About who was assigned to watch you," Peter clarified.

Chandler shrugged. "Should I be?"

Peter chortled as he turned away. "If I were being betrayed by the woman I love, **I** would certainly want to know about it," he answered glibly. "But, that's just me."

Chandler's heart leapt in his chest. "What are you-- What are you saying?"

"You honestly thought she loved you, didn't you?" he asked as he busied himself at his desk. "Why would she want **you** when she could have me?" he asked rhetorically. "Pathetic," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for his former assistant to hear. "Get out of my office," he ordered with a gesture of his hand as he waved him away. "I have business to attend to."

--Chandler felt like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach. Monica was working for Peter all this time?

He walked numbly out of Peter's office, only vaguely aware that his former boss was addressing Alice about finding a replacement assistant as he stumbled away.

He had expected harsh words. He expected to be ridiculed. But he wasn't expecting to have his reason for living yanked away from him.

Monica was working for Peter. The words were starting to lose all meaning as he repeated them over and over again in his head.

You're an idiot, he belittled himself. How could you be so blind? How could you be so stupid? How could she lie so convincingly? How could she be so cruel? He sighed. How am I supposed to live without her?

The questions weren't going to answer themselves, but he didn't have the strength to face her yet.

He walked along the busy New York streets, just like a thousand other pedestrians, only he had no predetermined destination.

He couldn't go see his father. Even though their plans had been successful, he knew if he told his father about Monica, he would lecture him for hours, and would likely sing a chorus or two from the 'I Told You So' song. He just knew he wasn't up for dealing with that.

He couldn't go see Monica. He wouldn't know what to say to her. Would she even want to speak to him? Would she slam the door in his face? He couldn't face those possibilities just yet.

After hours of wandering pretty much aimlessly, he found himself at Central Perk. He wasn't sure how he'd even gotten there, he certainly wasn't aiming to be there, but there he was, at the counter, ordering a coffee from Gunther.

He turned after placing his order and sat on the ugly orange couch as he waited for the waitress to bring him the drink he didn't even really want.

Chandler was so wrapped up in his misery, so consumed with thought that he didn't even realize he was being watched.

Monica approached slowly, almost as if nervous to, and she cleared her throat before calling out his name.

"Chandler?"

He looked to her abruptly, his initial reaction of being glad to see her quickly leaving when Peter's words hit him like a physical blow.

"Hello Monica," he said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," she replied, his distant demeanor puzzling her. "I came in to get coffee, why are you here?"

"I came here, to think," he answered hesitantly.

She sighed. "Did it not go well today?" she asked as she joined him on the couch. "I've been worried," she added. "I thought you were going to come to my apartment after it was all over."

"It went fine," he told her, "But, you probably already knew that much."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with a scowl of confusion.

He scoffed. "Like you don't know."

"I don't know!" she defended herself. "What's wrong? Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not in the mood for this, Monica," he shot back, then stood to leave. 

"You're not in the mood for what?" she barked back, starting to get irritated by his behavior. 

"For your games!" he snapped. "Haven't you played enough with me?!" 

"I seriously do **not** know what you're talking about," she countered.

He rolled his eyes before turning away from her and heading for the door, just as the waitress approached with his coffee.

"Cancel my order," he told the woman, holding his hand up to refuse the large mug in her hand. "If you'll excuse me," he snipped at Monica, his voice low, "I need to be somewhere where **you're** not." 

"Please, Chandler," she pleaded as she grabbed his arm, physically stopping him from leaving. "I don't know what's happened, but can we at least go back to my place to talk about it?"

He pulled his arm away dramatically and glared hard at her. She'd never seen him look so angry. "No," he replied through gritted teeth, "We can't."

Without even glancing back he stormed out of the coffeehouse, leaving Monica in stunned silence.

****

TBC

Please leave a review!


	11. Eleven

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Eleven

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--Monica stared after him in stunned silence for a moment, then wandered out the door, looking almost lost as she headed back upstairs to her apartment. She staggered through the door, concerning her friend and roommate.

"Monica? What's wrong?" Rachel asked, dropping her fashion magazine down in front of her.

"I- don't- know," she replied, still dazed by Chandler's behavior.

Rachel watched as Monica took a seat at the table, joining her, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Monica," she asked firmly, "What's happened? Why do you look so, out of it?"

"I think Chandler's mad at me," Monica uttered softly, her brow scrunched, causing little worry lines to become prominent.

"You **think**?" Rachel questioned.

"I saw him down at Central Perk," Monica explained, "Just a minute ago, and, he was all distant and weird. And he snapped at me."

"Wha--?" Rachel squinted as she scoffed, "Well, what did he say exactly?"

"He said he wasn't in the mood for me or my games, then he left, saying he needed to be somewhere where I **wasn't**."

"I don't understand, what brought **that** on?"

"I don't know! I asked him, but he said I already knew!" She sighed, "Then he left."

"And you just let him?"

"I wasn't thinking straight. He took me by surprise! Last night- this morning, was so wonderful," she recalled, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary when she spoke to him last. "Something had to have happened at work. During the meeting thingie."

"But what does that have to do with you?"

Monica chewed her lip nervously, but Rachel just assumed it was because of the stress of the situation. She had no idea that her friend was performing the nervous action for another reason entirely.

*****

--Monica sat on her couch, her legs up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees as she lamented over Chandler's words to her. The venom in his tone of voice… he hated her.

The knock at the door startled her, it being much to late for one of the gang to be showing up, unless there was something wrong. She scowled as she pushed herself up off the couch and headed for the door.

She peeked through the peephole, but couldn't tell who was on the other side. Whoever it was at her door, they were leaning against the doorjamb with their head resting on their arm.

The thought that it was Chandler came and went quickly, feeling that he was too angry to make an appearance any time soon, if ever.

She double-checked to make sure that the security chain was in place, then slowly opened the door and peeked out into the somewhat-dark hallway.

Chandler's head shot up when he heard the door creak open, and he sighed when he saw the set of familiar eyes peer through the opening at him.

"Chandler," she whispered, surprised to see him, frozen in place.

"I just--" he started, but stopped, taking a deep breath. He looked like he had been crying. "I just have to know," he began again. "Why?"

Monica just stared at him for a moment, then nodded and gestured to the chain with her eyes before closing the door, unhooking the chain, and reopening the door fully to him.

"Why what?" she asked, her voice timid.

He shook his head. "Please, no more games. I need to know. I need to understand how you could do that to me. How could you lie so convincingly? How could--" his voice choked, "How could you?"

"Please, Chandler," she begged, "I don't understand. What happened today?"

He hung his head and sighed. "Peter told me, Monica."

"Told you what?" she asked, eyeing him carefully.

"He told me that I was your assignment."

She scowled. "I was your **what**?"

"Don't try to deny it, Monica. It all makes sense now. The bug in the watch, all the questions… how **you** could love **me**. You never really loved me, did you?"

"Oh my God," she murmured to herself, turning from him and beginning to pace. "The **nerve** of that man!"

"Just tell me why," Chandler requested, "And I'll be out of your life."

She faced him abruptly, "But I don't want you out of my life, Chandler! I love you!"

"How sweet," he mocked, "The spy fell in love with her victim." He shook his head. "I don't want your pity, Monica."

"It's not--" she stopped, then growled in frustration. "Tell me what he told you!"

"Why?" he challenged.

"Just tell me!" she ordered.

"He told me that you were assigned to me. He said…" he trailed off, and seemed to be trying to recall Peter's words.

"Chandler, tell me his exact words," she asked of him, nicer than before.

"He said you were assigned to me. That if the woman **he** loved had betrayed him, then he would want to know about it." He scowled, "He mocked me, saying 'why would she want **you** when she could have **me**'…"

"Unbelievable!" Monica snapped, "Chandler, he's lying to you!"

"What?"

"He's lying to you!" she reiterated. "Don't you see?!"

He eyed her warily, not quite ready to believe her.

"How could you believe **him** over **me**?! I thought you trusted me!"

"I did," he admitted, "But what about the bug?"

She sighed, then nodded, "Ok, look, I knew about the bug--"

"What?!"

"Let me finish, please?" she pleaded, and when his expression softened, she continued. "I went to him, to try to get him to see reason," she admitted. "This was before I knew anything about anything, and I thought that you were stressed and being secretive just because you didn't want him finding out about us." 

"You said I could talk to him!" she reminded him. "You said I probably shouldn't, but that it was my right to if I wanted to. I just figured, if I told him that we cared a lot for each other, that he would give you his blessing and things would be better between us."

"But," she continued, "It didn't go according to plan. Not at all. He's a horrible man, Chandler! He said he already knew, and that he could care less who you date, but that you were keeping a secret from him, and that if I could find out what it was, he could return the favor."

"Favor?" Chandler asked, his whole body tense as he listened to Monica's story. "What favor?"

"He said he knew something about one of my friends. Phoebe. He said he would have her deported and arrested if I didn't help him! I freaked out Chandler! I panicked!"

"I don't understand, what did Phoebe do that he could make all that happen?"

"Apparently, several years ago, when she was in Yemen, she was a masseuse for a very rich businessman. Peter said this man accused her of stealing a large amount of money from him, and that this man has the power, if Phoebe were back in his country, to have her arrested. And if found guilty, executed!"

"Oh my God!"

"I know! I didn't know what to do, so, I agreed to help him. I told him I couldn't betray you, but he said I wouldn't have to. He said to wear the watch and just simply ask questions, and that would be the end of it."

"But it wasn't," Chandler surmised, "Was it?"

She shook her head. "When you asked me about the watch, I couldn't think of a good lie fast enough. When I said it was from Peter… he heard me say that. He knew that was why you took it and broke it. When I called him after you sent me home, he said I didn't own up to my end of the bargain, so he was going to call the guy in Yemen! That's why I went to see you! That's why I showed up at your apartment! I was going to fess up and tell you everything. And see if you could help me with what to do about Phoebe."

"When I got to your place," she went on, "And I saw all those guys, and I met your father, I got scared and backed out. I thought I might be in danger if I said something at that point, seeing as how everyone there was an enemy of Peter's. And here I was, someone who had allied with him for the sake of my friend."

"In danger, with who? Me?"

She shrugged, "Maybe you. Maybe not you, I didn't know. That Frank guy maybe? Point is, I didn't tell you, **not** because I was helping Peter, but because I was afraid to. I immediately went home and called Phoebe. She didn't answer, cause she had gone to bed early, but she came by shortly after you left for work this morning." She started to cry, "She's scared, Chandler, and so am I. We don't know how to fix this. She's afraid to leave her apartment. She's afraid to open the door when someone knocks."

He fought the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her, still not sure what to believe.

"You don't believe me," she asked as she wiped at her wet cheeks. "Do you?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I want to, but, I just don't know."

"I'll have Phoebe come over," she suggested, "And tell you."

"She could lie just as easily," he countered.

"As easily as what?"

"As anyone," he replied.

"You mean as me," she said what he avoided saying.

"Look, I don't know who to believe anymore," Chandler told her. "I want to believe you, but I just-- I can't-- I can't risk my heart."

"When we first started this, and you had all these secrets, you asked me to trust you. And I did! I trusted you completely! And now I'm asking you to trust me."

He made a gesture as if to say the situations weren't the same, but she stopped him before he spoke.

"Chandler, look at it this way. Ok, you said that today went ok, right?" He nodded. "If I **had** been working for Peter… you told me a lot of stuff when I went to see you. If I **was** working for him, I would've told him everything! I mean, doesn't that stand to reason? And if I had, would things have gone ok today? Or would things have gone horribly bad?"

Chandler had to admit, what she was suggesting made sense. And it would be just like Peter to do something like that. Lie in order to save face in the aftermath of defeat.

"It would have gone worse than bad," he relented.

"Doesn't that alone give you some idea of who's lying and who's telling the truth?"

He didn't answer right away, but when he did speak up, he didn't really respond directly to her question. "I wasn't always like this, you know."

"Like what?"

"Cynical. Paranoid of my own shadow. I used to have a life. Friends. But then all of this started, and I started to see another side to people. Nice, kind, your best friend to your face, then they would turn around and stab you in the back. I guess it's going to take some time for me to be a trusting person again."

"So," she asked reluctantly, "Does that mean you believe me?"

"I don't know. I think so. It's kind of a crazy story to make up," he acknowledged, "And what would you have to gain by continuing the charade."

She smiled with relief, then wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered before kissing his lips briefly. "The thought of losing you is terrifying. I really need you right now."

"You need **me**, or my help?"

She smirked at him, then patted his cheek. "Both," she told him, then kissed where her hand had made contact with his face. "We're gonna really need to work on your self confidence a bit, aren't we?"

He nodded, "Among other things," he teased as he moved his hand down her back.

"All in good time," she said with a grin, moving his hand off her ass. "First, what about Phoebe?"

He sighed and took a step back, his serious face returning.

"Do you have any ideas for how to stop Peter from calling that guy in Yemen?"

"Not off the top of my head," he admitted, "But maybe we can come up with something."

She just looked blankly at him for a minute, her expression concerned as no ideas came to mind.

"Maybe I should talk to Phoebe, and get some idea of what happened and stuff."

Monica nodded, just happy to be moving forward in any way on the task of saving her friend from deportation, or worse. "She's home now," she informed, pointing across the hall.

Chandler gestured for her to lead the way, then fell in behind her as she opened her door and took the three steps to Phoebe's door, knocking once there.

Phoebe peeked out through the peephole, seeing Monica there a relief. "Mon," she called out from behind the closed door, "Are you alone?"

"No," Monica called back. "Chandler's with me."

There was a pause. "Can he be trusted?" Phoebe asked.

"Yes," Monica replied assuredly.

The sound of the locks being unlatched could be heard, then Phoebe slowly opened the door and peered out at Monica and Chandler. She nodded a hello at Chandler, then stepped aside and out of the way. "Come on in."

Monica entered first, followed closely by Chandler, who noticed immediately that Phoebe wasn't alone.

"You remember Joey," Monica said to Chandler, it more of a statement than a question.

Chandler nodded, then extended his hand. "Yeah. Hi."

Joey shook his hand, a cordial yet lopsided smile on his face. "Hey," he said with an up-nod, then turned his attention back to Phoebe.

She looked like she had been crying, and Chandler wondered if her tears had anything to do with the predicament with Peter.

"Chandler is going to help us figure out what to do about this whole Yemen situation," Monica informed Phoebe and Joey.

"Doesn't he work for the guy?" Joey asked, looking at Chandler defensively.

"Not anymore," Chandler replied.

"It's a long story," Monica interjected, "But believe me, he can be trusted. And if anyone can get us out of this, **he** can."

"No pressure there," Chandler quipped nervously. "I have no love for the guy, believe me," he assured them, "So there's no problem there. But I don't know if I can help or not, to be honest with you," he added. "I can sure try though."

Phoebe nodded. "Thank you," she uttered gratefully, her tone and expression showing how worried she was. "What-- What idea did you have?"

"None," he answered bluntly, "At the moment. But I think if I knew more about what happened. Get your side of this, find out what Peter thinks he has on you, then I think we may be able to come up with a line of defense."

"Alright," Phoebe agreed, then gestured for him to take a seat. "It all started about 3 years ago…"

****

TBC

Please leave a review!


	12. Twelve

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter 12

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"But I swear," Phoebe added as she shared the details of her time in Yemen, "I never stole from him! I never even heard about the accusations until all of this with Becker! I didn't leave because I was trying to escape prosecution!" she exclaimed. "I left because my friend Albino Bob killed himself! I left to attend his funeral!"

Chandler just looked at Phoebe in amazement, not yet familiar with her harsh and unique life.

"Is there a way to find out about this?" Monica asked. "Find out exactly what the charges are without bringing attention to us? Or her?"

Chandler stood, leaving the recliner behind him as he stepped over towards the foosball table. "Maybe," he muttered, turning one of the handles that made the foosball players spin. "I think I have one chance at this," he explained. "I go back to Becker Enterprises tomorrow to pick up my final paycheck. I think maybe, **maybe**, I can weasel something out of him then."

"Is that safe?" Monica asked worriedly.

He smiled at her reassuringly, "Don't worry, Mon, he won't try anything."

"Not now," he added.

"Not now?" Joey asked, confused.

"A deal was made," Chandler clarified. "He can't touch me."

"What's to stop him?" Phoebe asked.

"Let's just say, it would be detrimental to his way of life if he did."

"What the hell were you involved in?" Joey asked of Chandler, his mind racing with possibilities.

"Nothing I wanted to be," Chandler scoffed. "Believe me."

"I'm just glad it's over," Monica said as she wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him to her; he kissed her hair in response.

"What will you do?" Phoebe asked, slightly uncomfortable about bringing the subject back around to herself. "When you ask Becker about Mr. Aleryani?"

"I don't know," Chandler admitted. "I guess I'll just bring it up and see what he says."

*****

--Chandler could hear murmurs of his former co-workers as he entered the tall building, feeling every eye on him as he headed for the elevator that would take him to what he was starting to think of as 'the floor of doom'. He purposefully did not turn around once he stepped on, not wanting to face the unfriendly looks he would undoubtedly get.

He arrived on the top floor, the doors wooshing open with a ding, then he walked off and towards an ever-dutiful Alice. He smiled when they made eye contact, but she did not return his kind expression.

"Why are you here?"

His genuine smile turned to a smirk of acceptance. "Final paycheck," he stated simply.

She huffed as she hit the buzzer. "Sir, **Mr. Bing** is here for his final paycheck." She said his name with such disgust, it made Chandler want to cringe.

"Send him in," Peter ordered, immediately clicking off the intercom.

Chandler timidly entered the office, his eyes darting about the room in an effort to avoid looking directly at his former boss.

Peter smiled confidently to himself as he retrieved Chandler's final check from out of his desk drawer. "Here," he said as he extended the envelope, and Chandler hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and taking it.

"Thank you."

Peter snorted a slight laugh as he shook his head, "Why are you here, Bing?"

"Phoebe," Chandler replied. "Phoebe Buffay?" He added her last name for clarity.

"What about her?" he asked distantly, as if her name was nothing more than a mere word of unimportance.

"You have this bullshit story you've been spreading around," he began, only to be cut off…

"You're just assuming it's bullshit," Peter countered arrogantly. "If you had any proof to that, you wouldn't be standing here in front of me, looking like a scared little boy."

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" Chandler challenged, his fear making way for irritation. "You would **like** to think you still hold some kind of power over me, but **believe me**, you **don't**." he assured him. "And scared? Ha!" he laughed for emphasis. "I'm **not** scared of you!"

Peter kept the forced smirk on his face, his eyes planted on Chandler, almost as if attempting to stare him down. When Chandler didn't blink or even fidget, he turned away. "You got what you came for," he told him, trying to sound bored with his former assistant, "And I have work to do. So, if you'll excuse--"

"I'm curious," Chandler interrupted, "At what point did you turn from a businessman to a blackmailer? A blackmailer of innocent women you don't even have business with, or even know for that matter. At what point did you decide, as a human being, that destroying lives was acceptable?"

At this, Peter chuckled. "Oh, you think you are just so much better than me, don't you, Bing?" He shook his head as he sat on the edge of his desk. "I learned a long time ago that in the business world, if you want something, you should take every means necessary to get it before someone else beats you to it."

"It's true what they say you know," he added, "Nice guys **do** finish last."

Chandler gave him nothing in the form of a response. "I know about the little game you were playing with Monica," he changed the subject. "Did you honestly think you could break us up with that obvious lie?"

"No," Peter replied, "I figured you would eventually talk to her about it," He smiled an almost wicked smile, "But I gave you pause to think, didn't I?"

"You really are a petty, petty man, you know? You just can't stand the fact that you lost to someone as 'un-business-like' as me. That someone like me could outwit the powerful Mr. Becker."

"You give yourself **way** too much credit," Peter scoffed. "Your daddy did most of the work, you were just his puppet on a string."

"Whatever helps you get over your crushing defeat," Chandler taunted. "Is that the only way you can feel like a big man?" he pushed further, "To insult people and play with their emotions like they were your personal playthings?" He shook his head, "Of course, with a man as small as you--"

"You forget who you're talking to, **Bing**!" Peter growled angrily.

"No, I know perfectly well whom I am speaking to. A cowardly man who has to lie to women to get them to do his bidding." A wicked grin crossed his lips, "I wonder, what else do you lie to women about, in order to get what you need from them?"

The implication was clear.

"This conversation is over!" Peter snapped as he moved to stand behind his desk, his finger poised over the 'page security' button. "Get out!"

Chandler didn't even flinch. "Funny how whenever one is losing in a battle of wits, he so quickly wants the winner to go away."

"You're not winning at anything, you pathetic son of a queer! You forget that I have the power to pick up that phone right now and have your precious girlfriend's friend deported! And arrested! And--"

He sounded flustered to Chandler, and that was exactly what he was hoping for. A man perplexed would be more likely to slip up and say something he otherwise wouldn't.

"You may have fooled Monica," Chandler stated with confidence, "But you don't fool me. Did you think I **wouldn't** make a few calls? See what I was up against?"

"If you're so sure I'm bluffing," Peter asked, his boldness returning just slightly, "Then why come here at all?"

"I'm here to pick up my check," Chandler replied.

"Then why not just pick it up and leave?" he asked smugly. 

"I offered to speak to you on her behalf," Chandler bluffed. "To warn you that if you don't cease and desist immediately with your lies, she will be contacting a lawyer."

Chandler had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that in order to get Peter to slip up, he needed to keep him flustered.

"She has no grounds!" he barked, not sounding as sure as his words indicated.

Chandler shrugged, "You'll have to take that up with her lawyer."

Peter just scowled for a moment or two, then huffed as he turned away. "Fine. You win!" he snapped. "This is no longer worth my time or energy. Tell Ms. Buffay that she has successfully called my bluff, and that there will be no further accusations from me or from anyone in my 'camp'." He shooed at Chandler like he was an insect that was annoying him. "Now, go. And do **not** return, or I will have security **escort** you from the building."

Chandler knew all too well that to be 'escorted' from the building involved pain. He nodded once, then turned to leave. "Just one last thing," he added before opening the door. "You ever call my dad 'queer' again, I will have a thousand gay rights protestors outside this building so fast, you'll consider dating men just to escape the negative publicity." A proud grin spread across his face. "Good day."

--He audibly sighed with relief once outside Peter's door, and his snooty secretary eyed him warily. Chandler smiled politely, knowing before she even did it that she would only scoff in return.

"Guess this is goodbye," he told her, to which she rolled her eyes. "Say goodbye to your flying monkeys for me."

He could hear her mumbling in anger as he walked away, but he never looked back.

*****

--"Well?!" Monica practically attacked Chandler as he walked through the door, and Phoebe immediately stood, taking a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come.

He smiled as he kissed Monica's worried, pursed lips. "He was bluffing," he informed, not wanting to add to their anxiety by starting off with the long version of the story.

"He was **bluffing**?" Phoebe repeated, amazed. "What kind of person **does** that?!"

"The worst kind," Chandler replied. "He thinks of it as something of a game, to play with people like this. Thing is, is sometimes, he really **does** have info about the skeletons in someone's closet, so I needed to be careful what I said. If I had pissed him off, and he **did** have something useable, Phoebe coulda been in serious trouble. So," he said with a smile, "I played with him first. Didn't take long to see that he had nothing."

"It was fun watching **him** squirm for a change!" he added happily.

"So, that's it?" Joey asked, his arm around Phoebe in support. "It's over?"

"Yep," Chandler nodded. "It had never really begun to begin with. He just needed to convince Monica that he had something, so he could use her. And even though his plan backfired, he kept up the charade about knowing that Mr. Aleryani guy. For kicks, basically."

Joey muttered something under his breath, then exclaimed, "I'm gonna go down there and kick that guy's ass!"

He headed for the door, but stopped short and spun around when Chandler called out to him.

"Not a good idea, Joe," Chandler warned him. "You'll get thrown out by security before you even get to the elevators."

Joey, feeling helpless, furrowed his brow as an irritated and lost expression crossed his face. Phoebe consoled him with a hug.

"It's ok, Joey," Phoebe cooed. "I'll put a curse on him, ok?"

Joey seemed to perk up a little as Chandler looked at Phoebe questioningly.

"You can do that?" he asked. "Put curses on people?"

Phoebe pulled away from her embrace with Joey, and as she nodded in the affirmative, Monica was behind her shaking her head 'no'.

"Sure I can!" Phoebe announced. "And I'm psychic too!"

Monica rolled her eyes and shrugged, and Chandler fought to keep in a chuckle at catching his girlfriend's response to the odd blonde woman he was just getting to know.

"Well," he replied with as serious a face as he could muster, "Remind me not to tick **you** off, then!"

*****

--"Phoebe is an interesting woman," Chandler stated casually as he watched Monica climb into bed.

She froze and looked to him incredulously. "Meaning what?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "What?" he asked, though he knew what her question was implying.

"Interesting, like, 'I wanna date her', interesting?"

"You're jealous!" he exclaimed with a smile.

She scoffed. "Oh I am not!" she denied as she climbed into bed, immediately turning off the bedside light.

He grinned to himself in the darkness of the room, silently listening to the sounds of her annoyed breathing. He knew she wanted to say something further on the subject, but was holding back. Probably because she was concerned about showing him her jealous side, he surmised.

Finally, the uncertainty got the better of her. "**Are** you attracted to Phoebe?"

"No," he answered immediately. "I'm not."

"I mean, she **is** blonde, and tall, and some would say she is exotic…"

"And some would say she's a tad looney, too!" he countered with a chuckle. "Besides," he added, "I think she's into Joey."

"They're just friends," she replied.

He shrugged, "I don't know them, so, sure. Maybe. But to me, there seems to be more than friendship between them."

She rolled onto her side to face him. "Joey and Phoebe?"

He shrugged again. "Kinda seems that way to me."

As Monica considered his words, Chandler asked, "She really thinks she's psychic and stuff, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "She thinks she's lived past lives, too."

"Interesting," he murmured softly.

Monica sighed, "Now, you're just trying to ruffle my feathers!"

"No I'm not," he replied with an oh-so-innocent lilt to his voice. "I like your feathers all smoothed down." He grinned mischievously, "Easier to pet you that way."

"Yeah, well, this bird is tired now," she muttered, keeping a yawn at bay. "You can pet me tomorrow."

*****~*****

--Monica checked to see if Chandler was asleep, jostling him slightly and calling his name quietly proving that he undoubtedly was. And a sound sleeper at that.

She climbed out of bed and tip-toed out into the livingroom where she immediately grabbed the phone and dialed the well-known number by heart.

"Hey, it's me," she said quietly into the phone. "He's sleeping. - Yes I'm sure. - No, he has no idea…"

****

The End?

Please leave a review!

If I get enough reviews/interest, I will continue. Otherwise, you will just have to use your imagination as to what's going on.


	13. Thirteen

**__**

The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Thirteen

By: Jana~

*****

--"No idea about what?" Chandler asked, appearing in the doorway suddenly, startling her.

Monica stammered, an answer nowhere amongst her incoherent words.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked accusatorily, then grabbed the phone away from her. Scowling, he put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He fully expected to hear Peter's smug voice in response.

Click.

"He hung up," Chandler informed a stunned Monica, handing her back the phone.

She took it from his hand and listened long enough to hear the dial tone before clicking it off. She had still yet to say a word.

"Guess he didn't feel like gloating today," he spat out. Monica still said nothing. "Are you going to **say anything**?!"

"You seem to have all the answers," she stated with calm anger. "What is there for me to say?"

"You're not even going to deny it?!" he asked vehemently.

She sighed heavily. "Would it do any good?" she asked. "You're going to believe what you're going to believe."

"I want to hear you admit it!" he exclaimed. "For my own peace of mind."

She shook her head as she turned from him, walking towards her bedroom. "It's late," she muttered softly. "I don't want you to-- I don't think you should--" she exhaled as she faced him again. "You shouldn't be out this late at night," she told him. "You can stay on the couch."

She avoided meeting his eyes as she entered her room.

"You won't even give me that, will you?" he asked as the door slowly closed, then clicked shut. "I don't deserve at least **that** much?!" he called out, but got no response.

After a moment or 2, reality set in. Dumbfounded, he stared at the door for several seconds before plopping down on the couch, his face in his hands. What had he just done?

When the door creaked open, his head shot up abruptly to see Monica place a pillow and a neatly folded blanket on the floor by her door. She still avoided his eyes, then she returned to her room.

He stood with a sigh, then walked over to her offering and grabbed the bedding off the floor.

He made himself as comfortable as he could, but sleep wouldn't come easy; his mind a buzz with self-defamation. He loved this woman, why couldn't he just trust her? Why could he **not** give her the benefit of the doubt?

Paranoia was part of the reason. He was scared to death of getting hurt. It would almost be easier if she **was** consorting with the enemy. Then he would have a reason to leave her. Prevent her from breaking his heart. He could then beat her to the punch, so to speak.

But, if she wasn't talking to Becker, then who **was** she talking to? And what did she mean by: 'he has no idea'?

One thing was for certain, he wasn't getting any answers any time soon. Monica was angry, understandably, and even if he **did** get her to talk to him, there would just be angry words hurled about. Better to wait till morning.

By morning, maybe he would have a better idea of what he was going to say to her. Maybe he would then be better prepared for the worst. The worst being that she **was** with Peter.

*****

--Monica watched him sleep, his expression showing concern even while in deep REM. Unsure of what to say, or what to expect once he woke up, she let him sleep, tiptoeing quietly to start a pot of coffee.

--The sound of Monica in the kitchen coupled with the smell of brewing coffee woke Chandler from his not-quite-restful sleep. He sat up slowly, and the movement of him doing so caught Monica's attention.

"Hi," he said softly, and she nodded, then looked away.

"Morning."

"Look," he started, "I'm sorry about last night. I was half asleep, and stupid, and I--"

"Chandler," she interrupted, "Stop, ok? Just stop."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked sincerely.

"I don't **want** you to say anything," she sighed. "I honestly don't know what I want right now."

"You're making this too hard!" she added. "Always paranoid! Always accusing! We can't build a relationship with all of this… **stuff**!"

"What are you saying?" he asked, fearful of the answer.

"I think you know what I'm saying, Chandler. I think we have progressed as far as we're going to."

"I don't want to lose you," he blurted out, his heart jerking wildly in his chest.

"You're not ready to trust," she told him sadly. "And without trust, there can be no relationship."

"I want to trust," he whispered.

"I know you do," she replied, sympathetic to his pain. "But, you **can't** trust right now. You have too many things going on in your head. Things I can't fix."

"Is there anything I can do? To fix this? To take it back?"

She shook her head sadly. "Chandler, answer me this, is there any part of you… is there anything **anywhere** in your brain that is telling you that I was on the phone with Peter last night?"

He paused before answering. "No."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Answer honestly," she instructed, her tone firm but understanding.

"Well, yeah, there is a teeny tiny part of my brain that's saying that, but I can ignore it!"

"Maybe you can, but should you? And for how long? What happens if we get married? Have kids? And then this thing you've been ignoring all these years comes out? What then?"

"I don't know."

"I'm not mad, Chandler. I'm **sad**," she admitted. "And disappointed. But I'm not mad. You've had a lot to deal with, and all of the crap and strife has made you who you are. Some of who it's made you is wonderful! Some of what it's made you is detrimental to long-term healthy relationships."

"I can't imagine you not being in my life," he choked out, on the verge of tears.

"We can still be friends," she told him, then took a few steps towards him. "But I don't think dating anymore is an option for us."

He inhaled deeply in an effort to stop the flow of tears, but when Monica closed the gap and wrapped him in a hug, he lost it.

"I'm so sorry, Mon."

"I know you are," she whispered, holding him tighter. "I know you are."

They stayed in each other's arms for several minutes, till Chandler finally had the courage to let her go.

"I guess I should be leaving," he said as he wiped at his face.

"You don't have to," she told him softly. "I can make breakfast--"

"Yes, I do. I do have to," he replied. "I need to sort out my head."

She nodded. "Alright."

"My clothes are still in your room," he reminded her.

"I can go get them if you want," she offered, but he shook his head.

"I can get them, if you don't mind."

"I don't," she answered honestly.

--He looked around her room, knowing it would probably be the last time he saw it. With a heavy sob-laden sigh, he quickly located his belongings. They were folded neatly on a chair; Monica's doing, then he sat to put his shoes on which were located just beneath the rungs.

--"Mon," Rachel announced her presence as she stormed through the door. "Sorry I hung up on you last night," she apologized. "But when I heard Chandler's voice… I just didn't want to have to explain--" She stopped talking when Monica started frantically waving her hands at her. "What?"

Monica pointed at her room, "Chandler is in there," she whispered harshly.

"Oh!" Rachel whispered back.

--Chandler overheard what Rachel had said, and he closed his eyes tight as it all became clear in his head. It was Rachel on the phone with Monica in the wee hours of the morning, not Peter. It was Rachel's secret that he had no idea about, not Monica's.

He'd ruined everything.

--"You're breaking up?" Rachel asked in a whisper, her face scrunched in concern. "Why?"

"He just has too many issues to overcome," she informed in an equally quiet voice. "We're gonna remain friends though. Hopefully."

"Ok, that's everything," Chandler announced as he entered the livingroom. "Hi Rachel."

"Hi, Chandler," she greeted him. "Um, I'm just gonna go in my room and change my clothes," she informed, giving them a chance to say their goodbyes.

"Call me later," she asked of him. "So we can maybe grab a cup of coffee or something."

"Ok," he agreed. He reached out to hug her one last time, and she held him tight as he clung to her.

"It's gonna be alright," she told him. "Believe me."

He nodded, though he didn't really think he would ever get over the pain of losing her. How could she be so calm?

"Bye," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Bye."

*****~*****

--"I'm telling you," Chandler chortled, "The guy actually thought the 'mouse' on a computer was referring to an **actual** mouse!"

"No way!" Monica said with a laugh. "How could he think that?"

He shrugged dramatically. "He thought it was how the computer ran or something! Like, on a wheel!"

"Are you pulling our chain?" Rachel asked, his story a tad too unbelievable.

"I wish I were!" he replied. "I needed to hire someone, like, yesterday!"

"Have you tried a temp agency? To fill in till you can find someone?" Ross asked, trying to be helpful.

Chandler shook his head. "I guess I could though. Ugh! I told my dad I couldn't do this job!"

"You're smarter than you give yourself credit for," Monica told him, taking his hand in hers. "You just lack confidence."

Chandler looked down at their hands intertwined, then looked back up at Monica.

"Central Perk is proud to present," the waitress interrupted the 'moment' between Chandler and Monica, "Ms. Phoebe Buffay!"

Phoebe stepped up to the microphone, sitting on the little stool as she settled in. "This is a song about how great death can be."

Everyone shared looks as she strung a cord on her guitar in preparation before beginning.

*****

--"Where does Phoebe come up with the lyrics to her songs?" Chandler asked Monica as they entered her apartment.

They had become so comfortable around one-another, it was almost as if they had never dated and broken up, or at least it seemed like it was a million years ago. In actuality, it had only been 8 months.

Eight months ago, Chandler was loved by the most beautiful, intelligent, wonderful woman. Presently, he had to settle for just being her friend. It was hard at times, but he cared so much for her, he would be to her, whatever she wanted.

"I think she just jots down whatever comes to mind," Monica replied absently as she fussed about the kitchen.

He watched her, a smile on his face he didn't know he was wearing. She noticed and stopped what she was doing.

"Why are you smiling at me?"

"Was I?" he asked. "I wasn't aware that I was."

She shrugged it off. "Can you believe Rachel is due, like, any day now?"

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "She's as big as a house!"

"Seems like only yesterday that she told us her and Ross were expecting."

He nodded. "That was the big secret that ended our relationship," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

She looked to him abruptly. "What?"

Shaking his head, he replied, "Nothing."

"We didn't break up cause she was pregnant," she stated with confusion.

"No, I know that," he explained. "I just meant that, the night she called to talk to you about it, that was the night we broke up."

"Right," she muttered uncomfortably. "But we didn't break up **because** of her," she told him. "We broke up cause of your paranoia."

He nodded. "Right. I know."

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed, and Chandler wondered if he had said too much. The last thing he wanted was to upset her.

"I'm better now," he said carefully, softly, worried about what her response to that would be.

"I know," she acknowledged, then said nothing further.

He watched as she went from fussing about to grabbing cleaners from beneath the sink and moving into full clean-mode. She did that when she was nervous or anxious. She did it a lot when her parents were due for a visit.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he apologized. "It's just, sometimes I think about… **us**."

"I thought we had moved past this," she inquired, waiting as the bucket filled with water from the faucet.

"I know I screwed up," he admitted. "And if friendship is all you can give me, I will learn to live with that. But, I want more. I always have."

"I don't think it's a good idea to go back down that road again," she choked out nervously.

"You might be right," he muttered, his eyes downcast. "And maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and quit while I'm ahead," he added. "But, I'm not going to." He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. "I still love you, Monica. I have never stopped loving you."

She started to cry. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" he asked sympathetically.

She turned off the water abruptly and set the bucket of soapy water on the kitchen floor near the sink. "Don't make me want you again!" she exclaimed. "It took so long to be in the same room with you **without** yearning! I'm finally there! Don't take that away from me!"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Mon--"

He stopped abruptly when she put her face in her hands, in an attempt to calm herself.

"Do you think it was easy for me to break it off with you?"

He shrugged. "You seemed ok with it at the time," he remembered.

"I was a wreck! I cried for weeks! Every night! Sometimes at work! It killed me, not being with you!"

"Then why did you break up with me?"

"Because, **Chandler**, you don't trust me!"

"Not true!" he shot back. "I was confused! And messed up cause of Peter's abuse of power, that I witnessed daily!"

"I know that there were extenuating circumstances--"

"However messed up I was, I'm better now," he interrupted. "I love you, and I trust you completely. And, more importantly, I know there was no reason for mistrust before."

She sighed, "You're making it hard for me to say no."

"Then don't say no," he asked of her, closing the slight gap between them.

When his lips touched hers, an involuntary sob escaped her. Hearing this, he held her tighter as he continued to kiss her gently.

He assaulted her with soft delicious kisses. Her top lip, her bottom lip, along her jawline to her ear and neck.

"I never stopped loving you," she whispered.

A shudder worked through his body, and he quickly lifted her and carried her to her bedroom… to make up for lost time.

*****~*****

--Monica watched her sleeping boyfriend, his face expressing the hint of a smile, and she smiled to herself as she lightly, so as not to wake him, kissed his forehead.

Seemed hard to believe that they had been back together for 3 months. Seemed even harder to believe that they had even split up at all.

It was almost like a fairytale. Her Prince Charming riding in on horseback, the evil King, trying to thwart their relationship. All the twists and turns that brought them to this point in their lives.

She sighed as she quietly slipped out of bed and headed for the livingroom to make sure Joey and Phoebe had turned everything off and locked up before leaving. They almost always stayed late, their jobs not demanding of an early morning wake-up.

A quick look around showed everything to be in order, but she fussed with the couch pillows a little before turning to head back to bed.

The phone ringing stopped her from reaching her destination, and she quickly picked it up so as to prevent the annoying sound from waking Chandler.

"Hello? - Oh, hey. What's up? - Oh, um, well, I don't think he knows--"

"Who's on the phone?" A sleepy Chandler asked, and she turned abruptly to see him standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

She looked at him with an odd expression that he didn't quite get in his sleepy state… at first. Suddenly, he gasped.

"No, no," he said with his hands raised in surrender. "I was just curious! I don't think it's Peter!"

Monica smiled. "Ross says 'hi'."

****

THE END

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